


For the Love of Camelot

by gatepromise



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 38,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatepromise/pseuds/gatepromise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Merlin's help, a painful coming of age ritual sparks a gaining of insight in more than one area for Arthur. After his cock is pierced and ringed in a ceremony not of his choice, Arthur learns more about the responsibility of a leader, and admits his attraction to his manservant. Originally posted on KMM. Canon era, set vaguely between series 1 & 2.  Warning: Discussions of non-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur felt on top of the world. His Coronation as Crown Prince of Camelot and Heir Apparent had gone off without a hitch. His father had actually looked proud for once. Arthur had eaten and drank and made merry, and had managed to dance with every decent-looking lady in attendance at least once. Even Merlin hadn’t been too klutzy or annoying for the evening. And when he happened to notice his father and Gaius talking in low whispers together, looking grave and glancing at him, more than once, he paid it no mind. This was his night, after all; who knew what old people got up to in their conversations?

He did happen to notice, though, that just as the festivities seemed to be wrapping up, his manservant disappeared, apparently after something Gaius had said to him, in those same low, mysterious tones. Oh, well, he’d ask Merlin about it later, maybe give him some extra chores or something. 

When his father had finally stood up and bade everyone good evening, and said he would be escorting his son to his chambers, Arthur had to fight his pleased smile. Perhaps this was part of a ritual to end the evening that he was unaware of? After all, his father hadn’t seen him to his chambers since he was a child, but Arthur wasn’t going to buck tradition. 

He was happily fuzzy, though certainly not drunk, when he strode down the corridor at his father’s side to end the evening, to the applause of all guests. 

Once alone in the corridor, Uther smiled at him slightly and asked him if he had enjoyed his evening. 

“Of course, very much.” Arthur paused. Was it his imagination, or was his father looking a little peaked? There was a slight crease between his brows, and Uther was looking a bit…concerned, about what Arthur did not know. Perhaps he was just a bit tired after the long celebration?

Well, part of being Crown Prince meant putting his own wishes aside, more than not. Magnanimously, Arthur offered, “You really don’t have to see me to my door, Father, I am not drunk. If you wish to retire….”

Uther gave a bit of a huff. “Uh, no. We’re not going to your chambers, not yet. The evening is not quite done for us. Come with me, then.” Gently but firmly, Uther took his son’s elbow and guided him down a hallway…

In fact, it was down quite a few long hallways, to a part of the palace that Arthur rarely found himself. There were spare apartments here, for visiting nobility, most of them empty, storerooms, and rooms that his father had said had been used for various councils at one time or another. Arthur walked beside his father, curious but willing.

It was not until they seemed to arrive at a destination that a sense of unease seemed to descend upon him. His father hadn’t said a word, had seemed lost in his own thoughts, not looking at Arthur or offering any explanation. Now, he paused at the heavy, unmarked doorway and looked at his son again. “You must trust me, Arthur. Duty is sometimes very difficult. You will be all right. Here, come with me.” 

Uther opened the door, and Arthur glanced at him before stepping in. His inexplicable trepidation rose a few notches when he took in the scene. 

The room itself was sparse, and smelled faintly musty. There was only one tapestry on the wall, a red and gold Pendragon crest, and several chairs along with various candle stands. The room was lit brightly for a place that gave every indication of not being used often. There was also a very odd looking chair with no arms in the center of the room that puzzled Arthur. Further puzzling was the presence of a privacy screen, such as that Arthur used in his chambers. Why would that be in a room such as this?

Four men he recognized as his father’s top advisors, although he could not have named them if asked. They were all older men, older than his father, with long grey beards down to their chests. They were all seated in a row of backless wooden chairs, as if waiting for some sort of speech or performance. The men said nothing, merely rising to their feet and bowing to his father, and then resuming their seats at a gesture from Uther.

But it was Gaius, also present in the room, that made Arthur’s sense of concern rise several more notches. Gaius was standing and looking very, very seriously at him; beside him was a table with various medical instruments on it, and next to that, a low stool. Arthur had the distinct impression that Gaius’s usually waxy complexion was whiter than usual tonight, whiter than it had been while in the Great Hall where Arthur had seen him most of the evening. Was Gaius ill? 

For some reason, the happy buzz of alcohol Arthur had had only moments ago seemed to have left him completely. He turned to his father. “What…?”

Uther took a breath. _Oh, I’m not going to like this, am I_ , Arthur thought.

“As I said in the corridor, this is somewhat difficult and…delicate. You are now Crown Prince of Camelot, and with that honor and privilege comes many responsibilities and obligations. There is a ritual that you must complete tonight, before you retire. It is of a sensitive and private nature. These members of the court are here to witness your successful completion of this ritual.”

“I see…” Arthur answered slowly. “Why did you not tell me of this sooner?”

Uther closed his eyes briefly and didn’t answer. Arthur glanced at Gaius, who merely shook his head and studied the floor.

Arthur squared his shoulders. “What is the nature of this ritual?”

“In preparation for your future Queen and your obligation to produce an heir, you are to be unmistakably marked as royalty and as such, be able to provide….unusual…satisfaction.” Uther’s voice, which had started off at its normal volume and timbre, had faded to a point where Arthur had had to strain to hear him.

“What? What does that even mean?” Arthur thought that was a reasonable enough question, but his father seemed suddenly annoyed.

“Arthur. Your cooperation is mandatory. You do not have the option of refusing. You will go behind that screen and Gaius will explain the ritual. You will return prepared and the ritual will be carried out. You will be attended to. And, I do not want to hear any discussion.”

Arthur stared at his father a moment, and without another word, turned and walked behind the screen. Gaius joined him a moment later.

“Well, Gaius? Why all the mystery? Explain, please.”

Gaius did not meet his eyes. Very quietly, he murmured, “I am sorry, Arthur…” and stopped.

_Since when does Gaius call me Arthur? He always calls me Sire, hasn’t called me by my name since I was twelve…_

“What is going on, Gaius? Come on, everyone out there seems to be waiting for me to do something, and I have a growing sense of alarm about this all of this.”

Gaius took a breath and finally raised his head, met Arthur’s eyes. “You are to be pierced, Sire. It is an ancient ritual. You will…need to disrobe completely and put on that cloak.” He indicated with a nod a simple white, unbleached linen garment hanging on a hook on the screen.

“What is going to be pierced?” The nervousness that had begun in Arthur’s gut ratcheted up a few more notches.

“Your…maleness. Sire.”

“My…” Realization hit, along with the horror.

“Father!” he yelled. What the hell kind of ritual was this, where he was to be naked and maimed in front of an audience, even? Had his father gone mad?

His father’s heavy footsteps could be heard, and then his father appeared behind the screen.

Uther was livid.

The king pointed a gloved hand at his son and in a fierce whisper, told him, “You will not embarrass me by making a scene. You will be a man and prepare yourself and come out immediately. This is happening, Arthur, this is your duty as my heir and I will not entertain any argument from you. Now disrobe, man up, and come out here.” And Uther stomped back out to where his four advisors sat waiting for a show.

Arthur turned back to Gaius, who, if it were possible, looked even more pale. “Well”, he whispered to the old man, “I guess this is happening.”

A few moments later, dressed in only the long white cloak that he held closely around his bare body, Arthur appeared again at the side of his waiting father. The “ritual”, as this barbaric undertaking was being called, had been explained to him a bit further by Gaius, and Arthur was having a hard time containing his trembling. Or, maybe he was just cold. Yes, that must be it, he was nude with nothing but a light cape covering him in a drafty room, surrounded by old men. It wasn’t that he was afraid of what was coming; Gaius had warned him that it would not be pleasant and that there would be blood, but Arthur had endured pain before, had undergone painful stitching and cauterization of wounds manfully. It wasn’t even that Arthur was particularly shy or modest about his body. He had, after all, spent time in barracks and close quarters with his knights, and had learned to not be embarrassed when dressing or bathing in those situations.

It was the humiliation of what he was expected to go through here, on display, all in a state of undress, all centered upon his privy parts. It was all mortifying. And, he was beyond angry and hurt by his father’s actions. Why hadn’t he warned him in advance, at least given him some time to prepare? It would still not be fun, but at least it wouldn’t have been such a shock.

As it was, his father did not look at him, simply ordered him to sit down in the strange chair in the center of the room, facing the “audience”.

When Arthur was seated, Gaius sat down in the low stool beside him; Uther remained standing , slightly to his right. Gaius quietly directed him to part his legs, twice, when apparently Arthur didn’t spread wide enough the first time. When he was on full view, Gaius raised what could only be described as wooden partitions that were attached to the chair, and that prevented him from closing his legs. It also opened the thin cloak he wore so that Arthur’s cock and balls were on full display to the advisers of the court. 

Arthur found a place on the far wall to focus on and stared at it, wondering when the room had gotten so hot. His whole body suddenly felt like he had a fever.

Gaius dipped a muslin cloth in a basin of water that was on the table beside the chair and set about…washing Arthur’s crotch. Oh, gods, could this really get any more embarrassing? He could have done that himself, after all, but Gaius had told him that it was all part of the ritual.

And then…yes, it got worse. Gaius took a razor, of the same type Merlin would use to shave Arthur’s face each morning, and set about removing Arthur’s pubic hair. “To help prevent infection”, Gaius had said. Arthur was going to look like an infant down there for the next few months, and itch like hell besides while the hair grew back.

Arthur concentrated on not moving, and on not dying of shame. _Breathe, must remember to breathe…_ His naked arse cheeks felt cold, pressed against the smooth wood of this odd chair, while the rest of him blushed deep pink…even his knees. _His knees were blushing_ , he thought, a bit hysterically; he hadn’t even thought that was possible.

And then…it was time. Gaius glanced up at Uther, who snapped “Get on with it”. And Arthur glanced, only once, at Gaius’s hands. They were steady. They were deft. They were, he was sure, about to torture him to death.

Gaius handed him two pieces of thick, rolled up cloth, one for each hand, and then eased a wadded bit of leather in his mouth and between his teeth. “Try to relax, Sire. I need you to be as still as you possibly can.” And then those old, sure hands were picking up a wicked looking needle and bending towards his nether regions, and lifting and holding his cock with the other hand.

If he had thought he was unusually warm before, he was pretty sure someone had set him on fire now. The first touch of needle to skin was horrific, and the pain only intensified as Gaius continued to press into the head of Arthur’s penis with the needle. At some point, Arthur pressed his eyes shut, could feel warm stickiness flow over his balls and inner thighs. He was certain pained grunts were coming from him too, despite efforts to be silent and endure this as a strong man. _Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic_ , he repeated to himself, over and over, a hopeless mantra. 

Arthur chanced a quick glance down at himself. The needle was now in pretty much at the half way point, to what Gaius had described to him in their brief conference as his urethra. Whatever the hell that was.

Arthur knew the moment Gaius punctured this, this thing, as a renewed, burning pain hit and he had to fight against every instinct not to try to wriggle away. There was also a lot of blood. Arthur bit down hard on the leather in his mouth, and thought of Camelot, and tried not to moan. 

Gaius quickly grabbed a clean cloth from the table and swiped it hastily over his cockhead, and then just as quickly, adjusted the angle of the needle so that it was now exiting Arthur’s penis, a little less than an inch from the initial puncture. Arthur closed his eyes again, and tried not to anticipate what he knew was coming: a second puncture as Gaius exited, and then a metal ring, something resembling what Morgana might have in her jewelry box, would be inserted into the holes, not to be taken out except in rare circumstances, for the rest of his life. 

Arthur knew his entire body was dripping with sweat, and strung as tight as a bow, eyes clenched shut so hard that it stung. He fought for breath, fought the waves of dizziness. 

He’d never felt such consuming, intimate pain in his life.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more and was about to order Gaius to stop, Gaius’s soft voice announced that he was finished. Arthur chanced one quick glance down at himself, still bleeding while Gaius hurriedly gathered cloths for bandages from the side table. His cock was forlorn and completely flaccid, the tip bright red in outrage at its treatment, and still leaking blood far too enthusiastically. Slowly, Arthur unclenched his hands from the cloths he had gripped throughout the procedure, eased the leather from between his teeth, and took several long gasping breaths. He felt sick to his stomach, too hot and too cold at once, and he knew he was trembling violently.

“Are you all right, Arthur?” Gaius asked very quietly.

Arthur leaned away from him and vomited the contents of his stomach on his father’s boots.

Uther cursed and shot Arthur a disgusted look. He made “Gimme” motions with his hand at Gaius for something to clean himself up with. Rather then tend to Uther, however, Gaius wiped Arthur’s face with a cool cloth, held a cup of water for Arthur to rinse his mouth with, even smoothed his fringe back from his forehead. 

Arthur accepted the help, not even caring for his audience at this moment.

Uther stomped around the back of Arthur’s chair and snatched up several cloths from the table, started to clean himself up.

As one, the four audience members stood and one of them, the shortest one of the lot in the blue cloak, with bad teeth, declared that Arthur had successfully completed the ritual of piercing, or some such shite, and that he was now worthy of the throne. Arthur, still nude and sitting in his own sticky, drying blood with his legs splayed wide, his dick bejeweled and bandaged and still leaking blood on the chair and his crotch plums, fought the urge to tell the old farts that he didn’t fucking care what they had to say, and vaguely waved a hand at them in farewell. He supposed “I will never look any of you in the eye again” or “”Hope you enjoyed the show, next year I’ll have a hot poker stuck up my arse, don’t miss it”, wouldn’t have met with his father’s approval, so he said nothing as they finally took their leave. 

For his part, Gaius seemed to be the only one fully aware and in control of things. He finished bandaging Arthur and quickly and efficiently lowered the apparatus holding Arthur’s legs wide. Arthur was a bit more comfortable in this more natural position, although, that also may have had something to do with the fact that there were now only two other men in the room and not six.

Giaus then handed him a small vial and urged him to drink it, assuring him that it would help with the pain. Arthur did so, without comment. 

Perhaps it was the almost immediate comfort of the potion, which seemed to hold his pain at bay if not eliminate it altogether, but Arthur started to feel a slow burn of anger at what had been done to him in this place, with no thought to his wishes or his dignity or his pain, or for that matter, even without the decency of at least warning him beforehand before being lead to his own…near castration! Dammit, this was his father’s fault. Arthur had found himself once again a pawn to his father’s wishes and it made his blood boil, that which wasn’t spilled on the chair and his thighs, anyway. 

Arthur decided it was time for him to muster at least some shred of control back from this. 

Very carefully, very deliberately, Arthur stood up, shrugging off the useless linen cloak that was now red and sodden, as red as his own Pendragon crest. It fell to the floor with a wet slap.

Arthur was proud that he was able to move without showing much outward signs of dizziness or weakness. Gaius continued to fuss over him, but Arthur raised his head and in his most formal court voice, the one that had been taught to him from early childhood, he addressed the king:

“With your permission, Sire, I should like the opportunity to clean myself and put myself to rights in some privacy. I shall take me leave of you and rely on the assistance of the court physician before I retire for the evening. I bid you goodnight.”

There, Arthur thought. I hope he gets the hint. That’s about as close to a dismissal of him as I can get away with.

But, no. Uther was shaking his head. “Of course you can’t walk to your quarters alone, Arthur, you have several flights of stairs to climb and if you should become weakened, Gaius is not strong enough to support your weight. I am your father, of course I will accompany you.” 

Arthur was aware that he was gritting his teeth. “I would prefer someone else assist me.”

“Oh, Arthur, don’t be such a child…”

Arthur wanted to laugh or cry or both. The entire situation was surreal. He was standing here in some forgotten room of the palace, nude and bloody and arguing with his father about…what? His father’s sudden surge of paternal concern? 

As he had several times before on this night, Gaius once again came to Arthur’s rescue. 

“Perhaps, Sire, it would be best if one of the knights accompany the prince and I back to his chambers? After all, we don’t want to attract undue attention to the prince’s present condition, and the two of us supporting him might just do that. I am sure you would agree that Prince Arthur has earned at least the chance for some discretion this evening. I noticed that Sir Leon was still about when we left the banquet hall, and he has shown himself in the past to be stalwart and loyal and not a gossip…” Gaius lowered his voice to a conspiratal tone. “We know how the palace walls have eyes and ears, my lord.”

After a moment of glaring at Gaius, and then at Arthur, Uther conceded, in a tone that suggested he was granting them a grand gift. 

“Since you have been through a hardship tonight and are not at your best, I will allow this. Good night Arthur.” 

Arthur did not even try to bobble a bow, just lowered his head, very slightly, very briefly, to his father’s retreating back, and started hobbling toward the privacy screen, behind which were his clothes and, if there was any mercy left in the world, an end to this night. 

He didn’t turn around when his father again called his name, just stopped with his head tilted. 

“You may not think so now, Arthur, but you will thank me later for this.”

And Uther left with a sweep of his cloak. 

At some point Arthur must have made it to the screen and to where he was sitting now, on the same low stool that Gaius had performed the…”procedure” on him, though he found he  
actually had no memory of the trek. Gaius had, in his usual professional, clinical manner, cleaned the blood off Arthur’s body with another damp cloth, even swiping at the dried blood on his buttocks. Arthur just couldn’t even bring himself to care about propriety any longer; Gaius had had held Arthur’s dick in his hand for the last half hour, what was wiping his arse in comparison. And anyway, he had known the old physician his entire life, had always depended on his gentleness and his skill and most of all, his refusal to gossip to anyone, even though Gaius seemed to hold more secrets than anyone else in Camelot. It was a feeling that Arthur had, one of security no matter what the circumstances, whenever he was around Gaius. 

Gaius had pretty much re-dressed him (and really, Merlin should take some hints from his guardian, for Gaius had done so efficiently and with a minimum of fuss). He had even lined Arthur’s smallclothes with absorbent cloth and taken special care to replace his trousers gently while Arthur played the part of a large doll. And the white-haired man had even gotten Arthur’s boots back on.

Arthur was reminded of all the times when he’d been hurt or sick as a child. His father, of course, was useless at comforting a child in pain, merely reminding him not to show weakness. So, the times that he’d fallen from his horse or punctured his thigh with a lance or fallen out of tree or dropped his sword on his foot or had the runs for three days straight or been poked in the eye by Morgana, he’d stayed in Gaius’ quietly reassuring presence. Arthur was accustomed to Gaius’ hands and his mind knowing just what to do, and his mouth knowing just what to say. 

Right now, though, he was not liking what Gaius was telling him at all. Gaius was saying that he would have to be instructed on how to care for his new…attachment (read: the earring that his dick had been stabbed into wearing), how he may have some bleeding for the next week or so but that that was normal, he’d be completely recovered in a fortnight, how he may have to hold his finger over the hole when using the chamberpot….

Wait, what? Was Gaius actually telling him he’d have another pisshole? What on earth had Arthur ever done to the universe to deserve this?

Gaius shook his head wearily and told him that they’d discuss it another time. There was a tightness in Gaius’ countenance now, and Arthur began to wonder if he’d annoyed the old man with all his carrying on tonight. And further, Arthur started to wonder why it was that he was concerned about annoying Gaius, but more than happy about annoying his father.

“Gaius, I—I just wanted to say, thank you for tonight.” At Gaius’ incredulous look, Arthur explained, “I mean, for explaining things to me, for helping me retain at least a shred of dignity out of this whole sordid thing. For championing me with my father. I’ve appreciated all that you’ve done for me, tonight and all the other times you’ve been the voice of reason.”

“Oh, Arthur”, Gaius sighed, and there it was again, Gaius using his first name. “I’m am so truly sorry about tonight. I didn’t want to…”

“I know, Gaius, but I’m glad it was you.” Arthur rarely showed this kind of vulnerability, and felt himself flush again. The potion must be loosening his tongue like good wine, yes, that must be it.

Gaius sighed again, and made as if to stand up, but then he looked at Arthur for a moment with a far away expression. 

“It shouldn’t have been done. It certainly isn’t necessary. One day, you’ll be king and you can stop this madness, keep your own sons from having to go through unnecessary pain and embarrassment, and from having to hurt unnecessarily.” 

Gaius did stand up then. “Come then. Merlin will be awaiting you and will be there to assist you during your recovery, over the next few days.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. Merlin. Fuck.

Of course, Gaius hadn’t missed the look. “Merlin doesn’t know anything about tonight’s god forsaken ceremony. I told him you had to undergo a medical procedure and that he’d need to attend you. You know that he won’t gossip, Arthur, he’s not that kind. Now, don’t worry. I’ll see if Leon’s arrived yet….”

And Arthur sat and waited and tried not to think about what the next few days of “recovery” were going to be like.

As predicted, Sir Leon was his usual stalwart and steadfast self, revealing only one quick expression of puzzlement and concern for the prince before schooling his features into unobtrusive professionalism. He walked at Arthur’s right side, close enough to support him if need be, but not touching, not yet touching. Gaius was slightly behind Arthur and to his left, carrying his bag of medicaments. Arthur, for his part, discovered that the pull at his groin wasn’t so bad if he walked stiff-legged, with a minimum of knee bending, which made climbing the stairs somewhat tedious and took longer than it should.

Finally, after what seemed like an interminably long time, they arrived at the door of Arthur’s chambers. Arthur’s brow was sweating, but he had managed to not pass out, an accomplishment in itself. Arthur was pretty sure the palace corridors had been cleared for him, for he didn’t see anyone on the way to witness his slow, painful trek…had his father actually made this one small allowance for him?

He dismissed Leon after confirming that Leon himself should supervise the next day’s knights’ training, as Arthur wouldn’t be running wind sprints any time soon. Leon merely bowed and wished him good rest before departing, and Arthur made a mental note to speak to Leon later. He always appreciated Leon’s no-nonsense, no-muss, no-fuss approach to any duty assigned to him, and would tell him so, perhaps grant him a brief leave if circumstances permitted.

And then it was just himself and Gaius….and Merlin. There was Merlin, asleep at Arthur’s table, snoring lightly. He had his head, fat ears and all, pillowed on his arms, at least until Gaius swatted his head and Merlin sprang to his feet with a startled “Oi!”

“Worst manservant ever”, Arthur muttered, stiff-legging it past Merlin towards his bed. He caught only a glimpse of Merlin’s usual wide grin before Merlin chuckled and called after him, “Are you pissed, Arthur? ‘Cos I didn’t see you drink that much…”

Arthur would have thrown something, but settled instead for a growl, and continued to his bed. The covers had been turned down, and sleeping clothes neatly laid out for him. No doubt, Gaius’s doing, not Merlin’s.

He heard a quick, muted conversation between Merlin and Gaius while he started pulling his shirt off, dropping it to the floor, and pulling on his own sleep shirt. The trousers were going to be something else, seeing as how he couldn’t bend to get his boots. Sighing, he glared down at his feet. Would this night never end?

And then Merlin was there, and without a word, turning his back to Arthur and gently but efficiently removing his boots for him. Yes, Gaius definitely must have said something…

“Do you need assistance with those, Sire?”, Merlin asked formally, indicating Arthur’s sleeping trousers. 

 

“A moment, Merlin. If you would await me in the dining area, please.” Gaius was standing behind Merlin now, and how had he gotten here without Arthur seeing him anyway?

Merlin looked puzzled, but moved away as his guardian had instructed. Gaius set about closing the drapes of Arthur’s bed. 

That finished, he quickly and efficiently divested Arthur of his trousers, and bent to retrieve the chamber pot. And Arthur was then acquainted with a whole new level of mortification when he urinated with Gaius holding his penis, index finger gently covering the still slightly bleeding holes. And then Gaius re-wrapped his member, helped him with his sleeping clothes, and eased him back to his pillows. By the time Gaius was opening and tying the curtains, Arthur was blanketed and looking wearily at his own helpless hands. 

“I will bid you goodnight now, Sire, but first I urge you to drink this. It will further ease your pain and hasten sleep, which is what you need now to heal.”

Arthur took Gaius’ latest concoction without a word. Why did all potions have to taste so much like bear’s breath and beaver tail? Arthur always appreciated the healing attributes of Gaius’ opiates, but they always left his mind woozy, making him believe he had two toes and ten feet. 

Gaius patted his shoulder. “Sleep, Sire. I will see you in the morning. Merlin will be in the servant’s alcove here; if you need me, have him send for me and I will be here immediately. I will also brief him a bit on what you may require.”

“Thank you, Gaius”, Arthur murmured. The potion was already taking effect.

“Merlin”…Gaius began. The last thing Arthur heard was Merlin asking, “Why did he want you to help him prepare for bed instead of me?”

Arthur awoke to sunlight and gentle, normal sounds of Camelot outside his window, with the vague, muzzy after-feel he always had after taking pain medication. He found he really wasn’t in any serious pain at all. In fact, the ache between his legs had eased from the all-encompassing burn of the night before to something akin to the dullness of a muscle strain after a strenuous training session. It was a tad uncomfortable, but nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. 

He had dim memories of awakening groggily several times during the night, of Merlin being there, quietly asking if he needed anything and helping him to sip cool water before Arthur had drifted back to somnolence again. He also had the same awareness, even without opening his eyes, that Merlin was near him now, though not invading personal space or touching him. 

His instinct was confirmed when he finally dragged heavy eyelids open to find Merlin sitting at his bedside in one of the straight back chairs from the table, reading what appeared to be an old volume of children’s stories. 

Arthur cleared his throat. 

Merlin glanced at him and then grinned his wide, ridiculous grin, the one that made his face light and, Arthur swore, made his already prominent ears stick out even more. Why he should look so happy just because Arthur had cleared his throat, Arthur had no idea….

“Good morning, Sleepyhead! Or I should say, almost, good afternoon. It’s almost midday! You had a good, long sleep, didn’t you. How do you feel? Gaius was here earlier, just to make sure you didn’t need anything. You were snoring away so he didn’t wake you, just told me to keep making sure you drank some water. I told him you had during the night, a couple of times. Also your father, erm, the king also visited you, but he didn’t want you disturbed either, just looked at you and said you were relieved of court duties for today. So you have a day off! And it’s a beautiful day, too…”

As usual, Merlin probably could have prattled on until sunset without even taking a breath. 

“Get out of the way, Merlin”, Arthur mumbled, gingerly moving to his side and then a sitting position. In his haste to help Arthur, Merlin nearly knocked over the chair he was sitting on. “Here, here, you’re not well, let me help you!”, he cried. 

“Just—move, will you. I’m fine, I’m just a bit sore is all. I’m not an infant, I don’t need any help. Go and fetch breakfast, or…whatever it is one might eat this time of day. And some warm water, for washing.”

“Shall I have a bath drawn, then?”

“Were you not listening? I don’t need a bath, just some warmed water. Now, go, will you, and grant me some privacy.” Arthur tossed to covers aside. 

“Arthur…” Merlin said. 

“What.” 

“Arthur”, Merlin repeated. 

“What is it?”, Arthur snapped impatiently, and looking up at Merlin from his seated position on the bed. Merlin was starting down at him, a look of rapidly growing alarm on his expressive features. 

“You’re bleeding”, Merlin said. 

Arthur glanced down at himself. Fuck. Gaius had said to expect this, but the front of his sleep trousers were unmistakably stained, as were the bedsheets. 

“It’s nothing, Merlin…” he started to say. 

“Gaius said that you might have some bleeding, from…well, from whatever it is that was done to you last night”, Merlin said tightly. “He didn’t say how much bleeding, though. Maybe I should take a look?” 

“You’re not looking at anything. Just, for once, go and do as I say, and grant me some peace. Now, Merlin.” 

“Why?”, Merlin said. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” 

“I’m going to hurt you in about two seconds if you don’t get out of here. Bring fresh linens for the bed along with the food and water. And stop looking at me like that. How in the world Gaius ever puts up with you…” Arthur muttered, managing to pull himself up to a standing position successfully and batting Merlin’s overly-solicitous hands away from trying to support him.

“I’ll go, but I’m coming back with Gaius”, Merlin said, and scurried from the room. 

Alone at last, Arthur sighed. If this was what he had to look forward to every morning for the next week, he was going to give Merlin the week off. It was more work to reassure Merlin that he was fine than it was to be fine. And after all, Arthur was fine. He was fine. He had fulfilled his princely duties, after all, satisfying tradition and his father and a bunch of no-name old advisors. 

Now all he had to do was keep Merlin in the dark, and he’d be fine. More fine. Finer still. 

Shaking his head at his own nonsensical ramblings, Arthur slowly and achingly bent to retrieve his chamberpot and shuffled behind his changing screen. 

Guess it’s time for me to figure out how this works….

Arthur had managed to get most of his piss in the chamberpot—the rest had gone in different directions, and on himself, when he failed to cover the new holes and its metal ring properly. Feeling disgusted and dirty, he left his chamberpot behind the screen and, trouserless, washed his hands at the wash basin that his bloody idiot manservant had forgotten to empty from yesterday. He had no clean wash cloths, so he washed the dried blood as best he could with his hands. He was still standing beside his bed, naked from the waist down, and trying to find a towel to dry himself with, when there was a knock at his door. 

“Not now!”, he shouted, his heart starting to pound like it did when he suspected intruders while on patrol. “Not a good time!” 

“It is I, Sire. May I enter?” Gaius

Oh. 

“Um. Just a minute.” 

As first as his stiff crotch would allow, Arthur scampered behind his privacy screen and snatched up the bloodied trousers he’d worn to bed. And then felt utterly ridiculous. When had this become his life, protecting his modesty like a maiden?

“Okay! Come in.” 

He heard the sound of the heavy oak door to his chambers open and then close and latch, and then soft footsteps. He peered around the corner of his screen. 

“I’m here, Gaius, I’m fine. Just waiting for your idiot ward to come back with my food and some water to wash with. No real need of your services.”

“Merlin will be along shortly with what you need. I shooed him off to give you some privacy. May I examine you before you dress?”

“Like I said, no need…”

“Sire.” And now Arthur noticed that he was Sire again, and no longer Arthur, as he’d been last night. “As you wish, though I think it prudent for me to at least ensure there’s no sign of infection, as well as instruct you further on the elimination process. That may be a bit awkward at first”

“You’re not going to tell me I need to sit down to pee, are you? Because that will not be acceptable.”

Gaius got that overly-serious look he always adapted whenever he was fighting not to laugh. “No…though it is an option.” 

“It’s not!”

Gaius seemed to shake himself. “Of course, Sire. That’s only as a last recourse. There is a way to angle yourself during the process….”

And so, before he knew it, Gaius had joined him behind the screen, and had checked Arthur’s cock with the same efficient detachment as last night, as well as had Arthur hold and point it and direct him on how to angle himself to get it all in the pot. He’d even located an old pair of loose trousers for Arthur to wear while waiting for Merlin to return with his wash water, and provided several more soft, absorbent cloths to line his small clothes with when he dressed. He didn’t redress the site, instead instructing Arthur how to loosely tie more bandaging around himself, and warned him to not yet immerse himself in water when washing. He also declared Arthur as “healing well”. 

They were both still behind the screen when Merlin returned, banging the door open without knocking, of course. 

“I’m back with your food and water!” he announced. 

Gaius and Arthur looked at each other. Arthur rolled his eyes. Gaius just smiled slightly, and then, voice pitched low, told the prince, “Let him help you, Sire. He doesn’t need to know what you’ve endured last night, but you will need more assistance with washing and dressing and moving about than you usually would, and he is quite upset that you don’t seem to want to let him.”

 

Arthur had tucked into his food hungrily, surprised at how appealing the smell of it all was. For his part, Merlin had removed the soiled bed linens and stoked up the fire, moving about the room while prattling away as per usual. 

When he was finished with his meal, he had Merlin lay out clean clothes for the day for him behind his screen, set out the water and towel and cloths there too, and then told Merlin that he was dismissed. 

“What? Why? I always help you to bathe and dress.”

“Not today, I won’t need your help today. You can have some free time for the next hour or so.”

“I don’t want free time, I want to help you. Why are you being so squirrly, anyway? I know something was done to you down there”, and Merlin gestured to Arthur’s nether regions, “But it’s not like I haven’t seen you before.”

Arthur glared at him. “I told you to leave.”

“Gaius told me not to leave you alone for now, that you’d need my help.”

“I don’t want your help. I want you to leave, and why am I arguing with you anyway.” Arthur grabbed the first thing within his reach, an bowl that still held the last remains of his breakfast, and wound up for a throw….

…and then almost doubled over when he could actually feel the stretch of his arm as a pull in his groin.

Merlin was there in a second, supporting him, and then there was much noise and yelling and arguing as Merlin guided him to his bed to lay down and Arthur tried to bat his hands away….

When he was laying down, and Merlin had eased a pillow under his knees, and covered him with a light blanket, and the pain had receded once again, and Arthur thought it safe enough to move his hands away from where he’d been clutching at his crotch, he chanced a look up at Merlin’s worried face. 

“I thought I told you to leave.”

“Fat chance.”

Arthur sighed. He knew that. Merlin was going to be soldered to him now for the duration, after that little incident. 

He closed his eyes again in resignation. 

“Arthur. They removed your foreskin, didn’t they.” 

Arthur’s eyes widen in indignation. “No, they did not. And…shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t look surprised or smug or even teasing. “They did. It has to be that. I don’t even want to contemplate the other thing it might be.”

“Shut up…wait. What other thing?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk?”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s bellow made his stomach muscles pull.

“Okay, I just…I read a lot, you know? I don’t spend all that time in the library because of Geoffrey’s sparkling personality. I was reading about ancient rituals for royalty in some of the history books awhile back.” Merlin shrugged. “And there’s some stuff about…” , he gestured vaguely towards Arthur’s groin, “You know.”

“Are there pictures?”

Merlin smirked. 

“I’m just thinking that if you’re spending all your free time reading about this sort of thing, you really need less free time. Does Gaius know you’re looking at pictures of naked princes?”

“It isn’t like that.” And now Merlin was blushing. Arthur felt extra pleased with himself.

Merlin looked away a moment, lips pursed, and then looked back at Arthur. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I wasn’t reading for pleasure. I just want to be prepared so I can look after you. That’s my job.” 

Arthur couldn’t help but smile evilly. Somehow, this whole embarrassing situation was being turned around on Merlin. 

“Do you want to see it, Merlin?”

“What, you mean your…?”

“Yes I do. You’ve been asking to see it, and I realize now you’re right. You should see it, compare it to the pictures in your history books. Part of my responsibility as your master is to make sure you are properly prepared to do your work.”

“Yes, well. I’m glad you’ve come around to the logic of things.”

Well, well, well. Feeling as though he’d suddenly been given an unexpected gift, and feeling his own shyness melt away, Arthur unlaced his trousers, keeping his eyes on Merlin the entire time. 

Gingerly, he eased them down his hips. And then his smallclothes. 

“Don’t touch it, now. It’s very tender and sore.”

“Of course, sire.”

Merlin watched, looking equal parts bashful and interested. His tongue flicked, very quickly, to lick his bottom lip.

Arthur unwrapped the bandages Gaius had placed not more than an hour ago, finally exposing himself to cool air and Merlin’s gaze.

Arthur had always rolled his eyes and mocked Merlin for his open-book expressiveness, and now he had a full demonstration as Merlin’s face screwed up in sympathy and horror, but not the shock Arthur had been expecting-- and then cleared in curiosity, and finally in recognition. 

“You weren’t circumcised.”

“No, I definitely was not.” 

“That…I have read about this. A Prince’s Piercing, it’s called. I’m…sorry. It had to have been terrible to go through.”

“Wait a minute. This is written about, in Geoffrey’s books?”

“Yes, several mentions are made in the histories about a ritual…I really hoped you or anyone else wouldn’t be subjected to. It had to have been awful.”

“Oh, bloody hell!”, Arthur yelled again. Fuck and bloody hell, there were actual chronicles of what he’d had to go through last night and his father, in his infinite wisdom, had not seen fit to direct them to him, to prepare him. Goddamn Uther…..

Arthur felt the familiar pangs of disappointment and anger and the unfairness of it all, as he had for many times in his life when his father had manipulated or shamed or cajoled Arthur in some way to do his bidding, peppering his speeches with words like honor and duty and nobility, and all the while not really bothering to be honest with Arthur, not at all caring about his own son’s wellbeing. 

And Arthur let him. He knew he’d continue letting him, and there was nothing to be done about it. 

Arthur looked at his manservant’s calm, open, guileless face, the one who had been more prepared for any of this than himself, and felt only a sense of sadness and weariness.

“Go away from me now, Merlin. I mean it. I need to rest, and then I need to wash and dress. Just, leave me, now.” 

Surprisingly, Merlin didn’t protest. He looked again at Arthur with the same concern he’d been wearing for the past twenty four hours and asked him quietly if he needed anything, and then drew the blanket over Arthur’s prone form and moved away to the outer area of the chambers. He only glanced back at Arthur once over his shoulder.

Arthur fought with feeling sorry for himself only a bit more before dozing.  
Arthur was dreaming. 

It was the kind of dream where he knew, immediately, that he was dreaming, that he was both observer and participant, and could do nothing to stop it or influence it. 

He was riding his horse, his own beloved stallion, given to him for his seventeenth birthday by his father. He was riding fast, perhaps faster than he’d ever ridden, and without saddle or tack—no armor, no chainmail, not even boots, just a loose shirt and trousers, the sun warm and lovely on his face and shoulders, the wind in his hair, the synchronicity he always felt with his horse making him joyful and free-feeling as the horse’s hooves kicked up dirt beneath him and they flew, they flew together, putting more and more distance between himself and Camelot. 

In his dream-state, sleeping Arthur thought that was a bit odd, that perhaps he should be staying closer to the castle; one could never tell when the Crown Prince might be needed, after all. He had duties he must attend to daily, and it was his responsibility…

But, no. The Arthur of the dream didn’t care about such things. He was out for a brisk ride with his horse on this day, a truly gorgeous, glorious day, one with warm sun and pleasant, balmy breezes and nary a cloud in the sky, and it was only for a little while, after all. What could go wrong? And why shouldn’t he grab at and hold onto any opportunity to enjoy himself, particularly in such a harmless manner?

And so Arthur and Hengroen put further distance between themselves and the palace, and Arthur felt fine, he felt a bit tired after awhile, but he was enjoying himself immensely, and it wasn’t until he reigned in his horse after a long time to allow him to rest a bit before realizing, suddenly, that the sun was no longer quite as bright. He hadn’t been riding that long, he couldn’t have been….it wasn’t because the sun had passed its zenith and was now retreating, ending another day. He knew that wasn’t it. The Arthur of the dream noticed it, but didn’t give it much thought beyond curiosity; the Arthur who slept felt a sense of foreboding, but then, they were riding again, and it was forgotten…

And the skies continued to darken. He didn’t know why or how, thinking perhaps only a passing shower was about to hit, nothing more. He continued to grip Hengroen’s mane as he galloped, but somehow, didn’t feel quite so exhilarated by his ride, and his horse beneath seemed nervous himself, either sensing it from Arthur, as he often took his cues, or finding his own reasons for not being able to give himself over to the unexpected freedom.

And then Arthur felt a sudden, great pain, like a great vise had been suddenly clamped around his ribcage, and he was yanked from his horse by a rope securely lassoed around him. He flew through the air backwards, too startled and hurting to even cry out, unable to turn his head to see what might be awaiting him on the down-arc of his flight.  
He landed on another horse, and there was no pain. And now sleeping Arthur knew, even if he hadn’t even doubted before, that this was a dream, for how could he be yanked suddenly, such distance, and land on a moving horse, without losing balance or feeling any further pain or falling?

He turned to look behind him. His father was on the horse with him, and it was he that held the rope that bound him. And Uther was unhappy. Very unhappy. He was speaking, but Arthur couldn’t understand what he was saying, as they turned and headed back towards Camelot at a far more sane pace than he had left it. And Arthur didn’t know where his own horse was, what had become of him….

He tried to ask his father how he had managed that, how this was even possible, but Uther was still speaking, even as his words were caught by the wind, a wind that had picked up in the short time Arthur had been away. There had been no wind like this when he was riding out, and now the wind stung his face, made dust fly in his eyes. Arthur could guess what he was saying, as he had heard his father speak so many times after Arthur had disappointed him, but he still strained to hear him. The only words he could make out, the only words that made any sense, were his own name, Arthur, repeatedly, and “better”. 

Like a reflection in a puddle, the dream faded, and Arthur came awake slowly, groggily. His first thought was of the ache in his groin; the second thing he became aware of was that he was perspiring, he was too warm. And then he was aware that his breeches were still down from his little show and tell with Merlin, but that Merlin had covered him with the blanket and he wasn’t exposed…which was a good thing, because his father was in the room with him, looking down at him with a somewhat unreadable expression. 

“Father”, he croaked. His throat and mouth still felt terribly parched, as he always felt after given pain medication. 

He was about to apologize for not rising quickly, but then Merlin stepped around the king, keeping his eyes and his posture lowered in deference, but none the less, stepping forward and in front of Uther in a way that would in usual circumstances, be unseemly. He offered Arthur a goblet of cool water, and discreetly arranged the blanket more securely around Arthur’s waist. And then he stepped back, behind Uther again, hands clasped behind his back and head lowered. Arthur wondered when on earth his idiot, useless manservant had learned how to move so quickly and quietly; he usually perplexed Arthur with the noise he made when he walked, given as how someone as thin as Merlin was, so skinny he would blow away in a stiff breeze, Arthur was sure, made enough noise for ten men when he walked, and usually managed to trip at least three times over his own feet and the dust particles on the floor and probably his own ridiculous ears, all before breakfast had been served. 

Uther, of course, ignored Merlin, merely pulled up the chair that Merlin had vacated earlier, and asked Arthur in even, dulcet tones, how he was feeling and how he was coming along. Arthur answered appropriately, assuring his father he was recovering as expected, his pain was being managed, and that he was sure that by tomorrow, he could begin resuming his court duties. He sent only one scowl back in Merlin’s direction when he saw Merlin’s disapproving look at that. 

Arthur knew what Uther wanted to hear, and recited it, almost verbatim, as he always did when recovering from any illness or injury. Weakness was not for royalty, and while he earned himself many scoldings from Gaius for pushing himself too far and too fast during recoveries, he knew what his duty was. 

And besides, he was fine. The piercing barely hurt at all anymore. 

Uther seemed satisfied, and even in a bit of a hurry, as he took his leave from Arthur’s rooms. 

He’s done his duty, just as I have, Arthur thought, and at his father’s request, assured him he would be well enough to dine with him and Morgana that evening. 

The door had barely closed behind Arthur before Merlin was talking again. 

Or maybe talking wasn't quite the right word. Spluttering might be more appropriate. Ranting, even. Complaining, definitely, and Arthur was going to have to have a talk with Merlin later about appropriate deference for his king. 

Even so, a tiny, tiny part of Arthur, a part he kept carefully hidden away from everyone, even from himself, a very disloyal and eyes-wide-open portion of himself, was warmed by Merlin's outrage on his behalf and his loyalty to Arthur. 

Enough was enough, though. Arthur gathered both is princliness and his blanket close to himself and told Merlin to stop prattling on and to warm the water he'd brought up earlier so that he might wash and dress. And just why had Merlin allowed him to nap during the daytime, anyway? Arthur didn't nap! What would the king think of his layabout son, if Merlin continued to allow such things to happen? Really, didn't Merlin have any sense at all, couldn't he perform the duties of a servant without getting himself wound up like a toy top?

Their familiar back and forth soothed a part of Arthur that he hadn't fully realized was raw, and the tendril of melancholy that had taken up residence in Arthur eased somewhat. Merlin would help make him presentable, and things would go back to normal soon, he was sure of it. 

When Merlin had finally taken a breather from all his rabbiting on, he had the fire in Arthur’s room stoked, had set a chair nearby covered in a flannel, provided several other towels, and had warmed the bucket of waiting water to a comfortable temperature for Arthur to wash. Arthur washed his face, Merlin assisted with his back and shoulders, and as he always did, handed Arthur the cloth to take care of his private area while Merlin turned away to prepare fresh clothes, including smallclothes lined with more of the absorbent cloths that Gaius had left for Arthur. Arthur was already starting to itch from the denuding of the hair below his waist that he’d undergone the night before, and Merlin had provided some soothing talc for him, also left by Gaius, and also handed over discreetly and without comment. He then helped Arthur to dry with a brisk rub down, assisted as needed with breeches and boots, wrapped another warmed towel around his shoulders, and quickly and efficiently shaved Arthur’s day-old stubble. It had always been an amazement to Arthur that Merlin, always so fluttery and spasodic with nervous energy, had never once cut or nicked him with the razor. He’d actually been quite nervous, the first time Merlin had shaven him, even suggesting that perhaps he would experiment with growing a beard for awhile (not that Uther would ever have stood for such a thing, of course, for he insisted that his son’s appearance, like his own, be fastidious.) It was one more surprising thing that Merlin was good at, and one more thing that emphasized the intimacy of the relationship between lord and servant, and Arthur and Merlin.

Finally, Arthur was fully dressed in tunic and undershirt, Merlin smoothed his hair and helped him into his red suede jacket. He was still fussing over Arthur’s collars when Arthur batted his hands away in exasperation and snapped, “Enough, Merlin, it’s just dinner, not a wedding!” To which Merlin had simply shaken his head slightly and gotten that look that Arthur knew meant, “You’re a great big prat, but I won’t say anything this time.” 

Instead, he calmly offered to summon one of the knights to help escort Arthur to dinner, a suggestion that Arthur nixed right away. “Not necessary, Merlin. I am sure I can walk to the dining hall without anyone’s help.”

Merlin was starting to look agitated. “You’re not fully recovered yet—look what was done to you last night!” 

Arthur gritted his teeth again. “I don’t need to look, Merlin, I was there, and I’ll thank you not to look too. And I’ll also remind you that if you ever speak of this to anyone, I will have you in stocks until you’re old and grey.”

Merlin’s face changed swiftly from concern for Arthur to outrage. “You think I’d”, he began, his voice rising in pitch. “Well I wouldn’t, and thank you once again, Sire, for your faith in me. I would never say anything to anyone about this.” And Merlin was suddenly very busy, moving away from Arthur, picking up the discarded clothes and towels and piling them into a basket for delivery to laundry. “Gaius said not to overtax yourself, is all”, he muttered. 

Arthur stifled a sigh. Merlin was such a girl…..

“I know you wouldn’t gossip, Merlin, I am just saying that Morgana is going to be at dinner with the king and I, and I don’t need you to let slip that I’m indisposed or unwell.” Arthur could just imagine what the perceptive, nosy, obnoxious Morgana’s reaction to his princely ritual would be, probably equal parts sympathy and amusement, concern and mockery. 

“Yes, Sire”, Merlin said stiffly. He smacked his lips loudly before adding, “I don’t usually engage in conversation with the royal family while serving dinner, so I think we’re safe there. Shall I accompany you now then?”

And so the long trek back down several flights of stairs to the dining hall began, Merlin by his side, knowing enough not to touch him but with the twitchiness that Arthur knew meant his slowness and obvious increasing discomfort meant that Merlin was becoming more and more concerned for Arthur. This was something Arthur had to do himself, after all, and if he arrived for dinner red faced and perspiring and panting from it all, that was merely the way it was.

Arthur rested just outside the closed doors of the entrance hall; from somewhere, Merlin had procured another cup of cool water for him, and sipping it helped him to get his equilibrium back. How could he be so affected after only three flights of stairs, anyway? He shouldn’t be limping this badly…he’d spent the day in almost no pain at all. Of course, he’d also spent a good portion of the day asleep…

Arthur straightened up. Obviously, he’d over indulged himself and now was paying the price for not walking off his…condition. Arthur motioned for Merlin to take the cup from him, and for the concerned guards to open the doors to the hall. 

He was proud that he managed to walk with barely any limp at all, and especially so when he saw that Uther had not yet arrived. Only Morgana and her maid…what was her name? Gwendolyn? Something like that, he was pretty sure, but he’d ask Merlin about it later. She was rather pretty, as far as serving girls went. There was only Morgana and Gwen, chatting casually, in the room when he entered, and Morgana greeted him normally. He sat down carefully, gingerly, with a great deal of effort to make it look normal.

Morgana informed him that Uther had sent word that he’d be along shortly, and they could begin dining then. She launched into descriptions of how she was handling her kingdom charities, and Arthur had to admit, he admired her philanthropic efforts. He’d always been proud of the fact that despite usually behaving like a harpy to Arthur, Morgana’s heart was always generous. 

And then Uther arrived, and the kitchen servants, along with Merlin and Gwen, began to serve the meal. 

The food was appealing, but while Arthur continually found himself thirsty, and had to keep gesturing for his idiot servant to refill his wine goblet, he found he wasn’t very hungry at all, for his stomach was still not settled. He managed to nibble at enough not to draw attention to himself though. 

Of course, he had just taken a bit of pheasant, and was washing it down with wine, when Morgana smiled at him sweetly from across the table and asked, “Forgive me for not asking sooner, Arthur, but how are you feeling after your ordeal last night? I imagine it had to be a painful trial.”

Arthur froze. He thought that there might be wine dribbling down his chin. From behind him, he heard Merlin make a slightly distressed sound, though Arthur wasn’t able to form anything more coherent than a mumbled “What?”

“Your, you know, piercing”, Morgana said, still in that same casual tone, like she was discussing weather. She gestured vaguely below the table. 

“How do you know about that?” he said, very, very quietly. 

“Come, come now”, Uther interjected, before Morgana could even draw breath to answer. “This is hardly a suitable conversational topic during dinner.” 

“I read about it”, Morgana said, and when Uther cast her a sternly disapproving look, she held out her hands in a placating way. “Oh, all right, I was just concerned about Arthur, that’s all.”

“Well, as you can see my dear, the prince is quite well and has put the whole distasteful business behind him. You need not trouble yourself further over it. Which reminds me, Arthur”, the king turned to a purple-faced prince in question, “Since you are feeling a bit stronger, I would like your assistance tomorrow with the council and the grainery reports. I don’t believe you are quite up to training with your knights just yet, don’t you agree?”

“You’ve read about this, too?”, Arthur addressed Morgana, and Morgana just shrugged. 

“Arthur!” Uther chastised. “That topic has been closed. We will speak no more of it. Now, here is your schedule for tomorrow…”

“Father, forgive me for interrupting, but I am afraid you proceed under a false assumption. You are quite right in what you said to Morgana. I am well, at least well enough to train with the knights tomorrow.” 

From behind him, Arthur heard Merlin shuffle his feet, but he ignored him, plunging on. “I can certainly oversee the morning training session, at least. If you wish, I can of course assist with the council sessions in the afternoon.”

Uther looked surprised, but not displeased. “Indeed? Are you sure, Arthur? What does the court physician say about your condition?”

“Gaius informs me that I am healing well. I was instructed to not overstrain myself, and surely I am the best judge of what that might entail, don’t you agree?” 

The presence behind Arthur made a squawking sound.

“I am pleased that you are recovering so very quickly. The Pendragon men are, after all, known for their strength and ability to heal themselves.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Morgana roll her eyes. 

“You represent our dynasty well. I will expect you in council after the noon meal tomorrow, then.” 

Arthur heard Merlin make a gurgling noise. 

When his father had turned away to say something to Morgana, Arthur twisted quickly in his chair, ignoring the slight pull to his injury, to look at his servant. Merlin’s face was screwed up in abject disapproval, his eyebrows forming a v-shape, and he was shaking his head vehemently. Arthur could swear his ears were flapping with the intensity of his silent protests. Very deliberately, Arthur mouthed “Shut up, Merlin”, and then turned back in his chair to finish his meal. He suddenly felt a lot better than when he had arrived. 

As soon as he was able to without raising suspicions, Arthur finished his meal and declined desert, announcing that he would be retiring shortly to ensure he was well rested for training the next day. He had actually entertained hopes of a clean getaway, with only Merlin to accompanying him, and had made it outside the hall and almost to the stairway when he heard unmistakable footsteps hurrying after him. 

Arthur sighed. So close, so close…. 

“Hello Morgana. Has anyone ever told you that you wear the noisiest shoes in Camelot?” 

“Arthur, I’m concerned for you. I just wanted to know what that was all about…”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re just beside yourself with worry for me. I’m really not in the mood. Do me this one courtesy, will you, and let me be tonight. Whatever it is you have to say, you win, you’re better at it than me, and always will be, right? Goodnight, again.” 

Arthur probably would have enjoyed the shocked look on Morgana’s face a bit more if she hadn’t also looked a slightly hurt. He wasn't sure if she really was hurt, for Morgana was one to pull faces quite a bit; he could never really tell what went on in that woman's brain of hers. They sniped at each other all the time, but Arthur was very rarely this blunt and dismissive. Well, she could chalk it up to a character-building experience, then. Arthur would apologize later, maybe have Merlin bring her some more flowers. He was just tired and peeved and exasperated and very, very weary of his current situation. 

He left Morgana and her maid…(Damn, what was her name, again? Gwenda? Gwenaire? It had “Gwen” in it somewhere… For the life of him, he couldn’t remember, but she was looking rather concerned the whole evening, though she was a bit better trained than Merlin and hadn’t made a sound. ) He left Morgana and Gwen-something at the bottom of the stairs and started the long voyage back up to his rooms, promising Merlin with a look, a swift and painful death if he dared tried to support him along the way. 

By the time he’d hit the landing of the second flight, Merlin had attempted twice to take his elbow (Arthur had batted him away quite convincingly), asked him to sit down on the stairs once, and even wanted to fetch a knight to escort him. Arthur stopped for a moment, panting and leaning on the wall, and then straightened with a sudden inspiration. 

“Merlin, I want you to go to the library and fetch me these books I’ve been hearing so much about lately. Get those, and a couple more on history or war or herbs or whatever else might not raise suspicion, and bring them back to my rooms for me.” He glared at Merlin when Merlin squeaked “You mean now, Sire?”

“There’s no time like the present, is there”, he retorted sarcastically. Gods, Merlin was thick at times. “I think I can find my way to my own chambers this one night without you.” 

“You can barely walk, Arthur, and you’re being such a stubborn prat…”

“Merlin. Tell Geoffrey I’ve sent you to retrieve those books, if he questions you at all. And I expect you back in a few minutes. You really should go now.’ And Arthur turned his back on Merlin and continued his very long journey upstairs. 

Arthur would have preferred getting himself ready for bed, without the aid of the servant who had turned into a worry-wart old woman, but found himself still unable to bend down to remove his own boots. And he was going to kill Merlin, he really was …between Merlin and Morgana tonight…well, no wonder Arthur was exhausted. Arthur wasn’t happy over the fact that he still wasn’t managing holding his fingers over the holes in himself when emptying his bladder, but rinsed his hands and found more cloths to line his smallclothes with again, and vowed to himself he wouldn’t allow Merlin to see the newest bloodstain on his trousers. 

He thought he would just lay down for a moment until Merlin returned with the requested books. The wine he’d consumed at dinner was making him quite drowsy and he’d just struggled up those damnable stairs. It wouldn’t hurt if he dozed for a few minutes while waiting. He stretched out on his bed, boots and all, groaning, one arm flung over his eyes.

He was dreaming again…there weren’t any vivid images this time, only a darkness and a far away whooshing sound he couldn’t identify, and a feeling of impending doom. He was seeing black shadows that seemed to skitter away whenever he turned in their direction. He suddenly found himself in chainmail and armor, sword in hand, twisting this way and that, trying to find the source of it all to deal with it directly. He tried to shout “Show yourself!” to whatever this threat was, but found his mouth wouldn’t work, no sound would escape. His stomach began to cramp from the tenseness of it all…

Merlin entered Arthur’s quarters, staggering a bit under a load of books, just in time to see Arthur writhe in bed, fully clothed, and then suddenly startle awake, eyes wide. He wasn’t reacting to the sound of the door opening or Merlin’s presence, for he seemed somewhat disoriented. Merlin began to speak, to start scolding him as Arthur so, so deserved, to tell him he was summoning Gaius, but the next thing Arthur did was quickly bend over the side of his bed and empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor.  
Arthur would have sworn that after witnessing that, that there would be much drama and fluttering about like a wet hen and noisy scoldings from Merlin; instead, he heard a couple of thumps as Merlin dropped the books he’d been carrying and rushed to his side, murmering only about the wine and the exertion not agreeing with him. And then his servant set about setting things to rights, cleaning him up, opening the window to air out the smell of bile in his room, getting him a cup of water to rinse his mouth out and a cool cloth for his face, and clean nightclothes. Merlin’s movements were quick but purposeful and even though Arthur kept waiting for Merlin to say something, anything, along the lines of “I told you so”, for Arthur had several sharp and biting retorts ready, Merlin never did. The only thing that Merlin did say that Arthur found objectionable was that he should summon Gaius, to which Arthur said very sharply, “No, you will not.” And then felt embarrassed by his own petulance. 

Arthur still felt dizzy and exhausted and like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet, but kept his eyes closed so that he wouldn’t have to see Merlin’s expression as Merlin worked around him. Truth be told, he didn’t have to look to know what Merlin looked like. Arthur was getting very, very tired of those looks being directed his way, from Merlin and from everyone else. They resembled pity too much, and he could not abide that. He wasn’t pitiful; he was a knight and a prince and a warrior, and this stupid, stupid thing that he’d had to go through should not be causing the disruption that it had. It was high time he did something about that. 

Merlin helped him out of his shirt, boots and trousers, predictably frowning at the new bloodstain, but when he raised his eyes to look at Arthur and opened his mouth, Arthur managed, for once, to silence him with a look. He was going to tell Merlin to just hand him a cloth and be dismissed, but then sighed and thought about how tired he was and how much energy he’d have to expend when Merlin started into his many protests. So, he just gestured for Merlin to proceed, and laid back with one arm over his eyes. Big whoop. He thought about how it made no difference, after all, if Merlin saw his prick; after all, Arthur was pretty sure Merlin had one of his own. The silliness of that had Arthur having to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling hysterically. 

He felt Merlin take down his small clothes and start wiping away the newest accumulation of blood; he glanced once at Merlin from behind his arm. Merlin’s cheeks were flushed winterberry red, and his tongue kept flicking over his lips as he worked. Hmm. Arthur put his arm back over his eyes and muttered “Hurry up, Merlin. I’d like to go to sleep before dawn, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Merlin’s response was to wipe slightly faster with the damp cloth; Arthur felt it touch the ring through the piercing, and it hurt just slightly, but he also felt…something else. He wasn’t unfamiliar with that sensation, but certainly not under present conditions. And then he felt himself harden, just a bit, the ring in the piercings pulling at his skin like stitches in a laceration that was just beginning to heal. 

He took his arm down again, feel his own face flush uncontrollably. Merlin’s eyes came up to meet his, his expression unreadable. 

“Erm. Right. Sorry about that, then”, Arthur mumbled, and then felt a sense of great irritation with himself and with Merlin. What was he doing, apologizing to Merlin? Had his brain and his decorum suddenly seeped out of the new holes in his dick? Merlin was his servant, he didn’t apologize to him! 

“S’okay”, Merlin said, lowering his head again, and then he was reaching for Arthur again.  
Merlin was wiping away again, gently but firmly, and Arthur was continuing to react to the touch. And Merlin knew it, damn him, he knew it. And bloody fuck and hell, it felt…good.

“Why don’t you just remove it, Arthur? The ring, I mean. No one would know, it wouldn’t be like your father would be checking you, would it? It would heal so much faster.” 

Arthur stared at him, incredulous, Merlin’s ministrations suddenly not feeling as good. “I don’t believe what I am hearing. I would know, that’s why! It’s not about being checked, it’s about honor, something I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

“I have read about the ritual for this, how it was done to you, and I am seeing the results. I don’t think there was much honor involved, and…I don’t like the way this is looking. It may be a bit infected. Gaius….”

Oh, this was intolerable. Arthur swatted Merlin’s hands away, took up his own smallclothes, and ordered Merlin to bring him more cloths. “We’re done here”, he said sharply, and Merlin’s response was to move so quickly to do as he was bid that he stumbled and nearly fell. Well, some things never changed…

Merlin came back with the cloths and a cup of…something for Arthur, to which Arthur sharply told him that he didn’t need a sleeping potion, he would have been asleep some time ago if not for his idiot manservant’s incompetence. 

“It’s honey and ginger, Sire. For your stomach.” 

Ah. So, Merlin wasn’t completely useless after all. Arthur pulled up the covers to his chest and downed the potion in a gulp; it didn’t taste that bad, really, as far as potions went. 

“That will be all, Merlin. Be here bright and early tomorrow, I want to get an early start on the training field.”

“That is a really bad idea, Arthur. Gaius said…”

“I said, you’re dismissed.”

Merlin made that lip-smacking sound he often did, the one Arthur swore was just for him, to annoy him and irritate him to distraction. “I don’t think…”

“I don’t recall asking you what you thought, about anything. Go to bed, and leave me in peace.”

 

“You’re a right prat, you know that. I know you’re feeling lousy and embarrassed and everything else right now, and I would be too, but you’re just risking your own health for stupid pride! You…”

“Get out!” Arthur shouted. Gods, he had a headache…and a stomach ache…his dick ached, and was doing embarrassing things under the covers…he was exhausted, and Merlin wouldn’t leave him alone. This was his life, the life of a prince. 

“I’ll just sleep in the alcove here, next to you, in case you need anything.”

“No you won’t. You snore. I’ve heard you on hunting trips, and I don’t want to be kept awake by you rattling the windows every time you inhale. Go to your own room.”

“I don’t snore! Besides, I can’t go home. Gaius has a patient in my room.”

“He does not!”

Merlin just raised his eyebrows in that “I would never lie to you” look. 

“Oh….” Arthur groaned. “I don’t care where you sleep, Merlin, just leave me, will you. Just…go.”

Merlin actually smiled a bit, and Arthur decided he was going to have Merlin cleaning the stables tomorrow and until the end of time. “Good night, Sire.”

“Yeah, sure”, he muttered.

Arthur woke just before dawn, feeling exhausted and achey, but none the less, eager to begin the day. Things would start returning to normal once he got out onto the practice field with the knights again, he was certain of that. And why shouldn’t it? 

He managed to take care of his morning elimination with less collateral damage (read: urine all over the place) than he had the night before; obviously, his body was starting to heal and remember, just as his muscles remembered when he trained. He was training his dick how to hit the pot, that was what he was doing, and if it seemed basic, at his age, well, nobody would have to know, would they.

He gave said appendage a quick examination in the dim light of the candle and the pink sky over Camelot. It did appear a bit on the red side, but it wasn’t sorer, not really. No, Merlin had over-reacted, as usual; he wasn’t infected, he was sure he was healing normally. After all, hadn’t Gaius said so just the morning before?

Proud of his newly positive outlook on things, Arthur set about the task of dressing. He even managed to get his own boots on by himself, which he felt inordinately pleased over. He was perspiring a bit, and had let out a couple of loud grunts during the effort, but he’d done it. Yes, things were definitely looking up. Now, his chainmail and armor.

He could hear, from the next room, Merlin’s even breathing. He hadn’t woken despite Arthur’s moving about the room. Well, at least he hadn’t snored the whole night long, thanks be for small favors. Then again, Arthur was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep right after Merlin had blown out the last candle in his room, he’d been so tired by the day’s trials and many frustrations.

Arthur looked about his room for suitable wake-up material, and his eyes lit upon the heavy silver platter on his wardrobe. Oh, this would do nicely, indeed. 

He walked to the doorway of the alcove where he could just make out Merlin’s face as he slept. He had his head pillowed on both hands, hair tousled into impossible peaks all over his head, and he was drooling a bit. Arthur’s own lips curled in disgust. Commoners….sigh.

He stepped back a bit, took aim, and let the platter fly. It landed with a satisfyingly loud crash on the floor right by Merlin’s bed. 

“Rise and shine, Merlin! Let’s see those feet of yours hit the floor!”,he bellowed. 

Merlin didn’t let him down. His eyes flew open in shock, and his entire body seemed to jolt about six inches off the bed. And of course, in a predictably high-pitched, girly way, Merlin shriek-screeched “OI!”

Arthur laughed so hard and so long he was almost afraid he’d wet himself.

Once Merlin had gotten himself together a bit—he’d spent a lot of time alternately clutching his heart and glaring at Arthur, but in the end, he’d smirked wryly at Arthur and just told him he was glad to see him feeling so chipper…even if it was at Merlin’s expense—Arthur let him alone to dress and do whatever else he needed to before helping him. He called to him that he wouldn’t be needing any breakfast, he’d grab some bread and cheese on the way to the playing field, and to hurry up, he wanted his armor.

Merlin emerged right after that, looking unhappy, and started in again on the whole “You shouldn’t be training so soon, you’ll injure yourself” routine. Arthur was already sick of that song. He was in too good a mood even for Merlin to change that, so he merely slipped on his own chain mail and grabbed the nearest sword, deciding against fighting with Merlin at all. He didn't really need the armor, not right away. Once he got into the swing of things, he could always borrow a squire and have him fetch his armor, without Merlin's histronics. Yes, that's what he'd do. 

“I’m going now, Merlin. I won’t need armor just yet as I intend to Take.It. Easy.”  
He enunciated each word sarcastically, and Merlin’s mouth twisted. “You stay here and…clean something. The floor by my bed definitely needs scrubbing after last night. Get to it, then.” 

And Arthur left, a spring in his step that hadn't been there for a couple days (and it only hurt a little), ready to take on a new day in Camelot, once he made it down the bloody stairs.  
The stairs were eventually conquered, food was procured from the kitchen and the startled early morning cooks, (“The Prince is in the kitchen! Since when does this happen?! Oh my stars, and breakfast not nearly ready at all, I’m going to faint, I am!”) and Arthur was on his way to the knights quarters at only a slightly less fast stride than usual. He could feel his damnable injury pull, but it wasn’t crippling, and his range of motion was returning well enough, at least enough to be expected. 

He could see the knights begin to slowly trail out from the barracks, beginning their individual warm-up exercises, and generally taking part in the male bonding that always took place before formal sword forms and routines began. This meant of course that there was much jeering, shoving, and general horse play, although Arthur, from his unexpected vantage point, was pleased to see didn’t get out of hand. He also saw Sir Leon emerge and immediately begin directing everyone into organized warm ups, including calisthenics and wind sprints. And Arthur was very glad that he’d chosen to come out so early, unexpected and undetected, to observe his men when they didn’t think their leader was watching, when they might not be on their “best behavior”. 

This was what Arthur was born to do, what he was good at, what he enjoyed, what he was most comfortable with—training and leading men. The past few days, and all its confusion and uncertainty and embarrassment, would be forgotten and Arthur could concentrate on the important things…and not anomalies, like the way Merlin had made him feel….well. Arthur was sure that that hadn’t been about Merlin, that his…hard-on….had only been due to a strange side effect of the healing site, and it wouldn’t happen again. 

At any rate, Arthur didn’t have to think about it. He'd put it out of his mind; there was no use on dwelling on something so inconsequential, if...unsettling. He took a deep, cleansing breath, as he often did when preparing for battle, or competing in tournaments. He ate his simple breakfast—the cooks had fluttered about in a near panic when he’d arrived in their domain, but had none the less given him a chunk of sharp cheese, bread, grapes, and a cup of unfermented grape juice, and it served him well now—and watched, and observed. When he was finished, he’d join his men, and not overdo it, but instruct and supervise as he saw fit, as befitted the Crown Prince of Camelot.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin was despondent. 

He was really getting it from all sides. After being shocked awake by his oh-so-funny Prince that morning (and yes, Merlin had to admit, in his heart of hearts, if he had been a third party observing Arthur’s method of waking him up, he probably would have found it pretty funny; since he hadn’t been, and his heart still hadn’t quite settled down, he was still rather less than amused). There was the fact that the same prince in question considered himself above conventional medical wisdom and thought it prudent to push himself into the ground, certain that would speed up healing of a rather serious injury. And then there was Merlin’s conversation with Gaius this morning…

Merlin had left Arthur’s chambers shortly after Arthur had, resigned to the fact that he would be stuck with cleaning chores that morning and probably nursing a very sore, very grouchy prince that afternoon. He’d been on the way to the well for water for washing, and come across Gwen, on her way to tend to her lady. Of course, Gwen had asked after Arthur, but even as perturbed as he was at him right now, Merlin couldn’t gossip about him. He told Gwen he really couldn’t say anything, to which Gwen had simply replied, “I’ve a pretty good idea what’s going on anyway, from things Morgana has said. Poor Arthur.” And then she’d merely asked how Merlin was holding up, and he’d ran his hands through his hair and muttered “The mood swings of that man, Gwen…” Gwen had gifted him with her most sympathetic, sweet smile, and handed him half a honey loaf from a pocket of her apron, still warm. 

“I know, Merlin. I’ve known him longer than you have, and admire your patience. He’s a bit stubborn and pig headed, isn’t he, but I don’t guess he’s having an easy time of things himself…” 

And so they’d commiserated together for few short moments, not really gossiping, but sharing each others troubles and travails over their master and mistress, and licking crumbs from their fingers, until it was time for them both to continue on their way. 

Merlin had then met Gaius at the public well, and they’d found a quiet alcove to talk in relative privacy. Of course, the first thing Gaius had asked was how the prince was, and Merlin had had to tell him that not only was he out training with his knights this morning, which earned him a very disapproving “Merlin! You were supposed to look after him!”, to which Merlin could only defend “I tried! You know how he is, and he never listens to me!” And then Merlin had had to tell Gaius that not only was Arthur not resting as he should be, he was not healing as he should be—“He’s thrown up everything he’s eaten in the last day and a half, and it—the injury—it doesn’t look right. It’s inflamed, red. To me it looks like it might be a bit infected.” 

Of course, Gaius being Gaius, he who never missed a thing, looked Merlin straight in the eye and said, “So—he’s let you observe it, then? I am surprised by that.”

“Oh, please don’t let me blush in front of him, please don’t let me give myself away…and yes, it was actually a bit more than “observing....”

Merlin did his best to appear medically professional, simply answering yes, he’d tended to the prince when he was too tired to do so, and he was very concerned about him now because he’d been straining himself, going up and down flights of stairs repeatedly and now training with the knights, though he did add, in fairness to Arthur, that the prince had promised to “take it easy” today. 

Gaius had merely shaken his head and muttered that they both knew the chances of that were slim to none, and they’d parted ways shortly after that, with Merlin having the distinct impression that Gaius was somehow upset and vexed with him. 

Merlin had returned to Arthur’s quarters and continued cleaning the floors, stripped the linens off the prince’s bed and the one he’d slept in last night and exchanged them for fresh ones, and then set his chair before the window that looked out over the training field, a stack of armor and chainmail ready to be polished. 

Despite the fact that the field was really too far away to distinguish facial features, he knew which knight was Arthur; perhaps because of his magic or his instinctual bond to the man. 

He watched as he worked, imagining a silver-and-gold light following and distinguishing Arthur for him, wherever he went. Or maybe he hadn’t really imagined it, at all. ..

Arthur didn’t know it, but Merlin loved the cleaning and polishing of his mail and metal. Merlin solved all the world’s problems, in what his mum had referred to as his penchant for wool gathering, while dong many of these menial tasks, such as now, as he kept one eye on his task and one eye on the prince.

He thought of what had transpired the night before—Arthur’s erection when he’d been sponging him…

How many times had Merlin imagined sharing Arthur’s bed with him? And to be in such intimate proximity with the prince…to actually be holding that lovely cock in his hands…it was Merlin’s biggest secret, far more secret than even his magic, for there were at least a few trusted souls who knew about that. No one, no one but himself must ever know of Merlin’s feelings for Arthur, for Merlin knew that the proud prince would never have feelings for one such as him, one he saw as no more than his dogsbody, someone barely smart enough to talk and walk. 

There were times when Merlin’s discouragement over how Arthur viewed him made him physically ache, to shout at him what he really could do, that he more powerful than Arthur himself, the Crown Prince of Camelot, could ever, ever imagine. 

So far, Merlin’s instinct for self preservation had prevailed, and he’d kept his mouth shut about his magical gifts. Gaius kept telling him not to take Arthur’s rudeness to heart, that there would come a day when Arthur recognized his value and treated him accordingly. 

Merlin loved and respected Gaius, but doubted him very much in this. He did believe, though, that one day, one day when Arthur took the throne and was no longer under the thrall of Uther, that he would be able to reveal his magic to him in safety. 

But as for his other secret, the one of Arthur as a willing bedpartner…well. Merlin may be young and silly and even stupid, but he was wise enough to recognize that some things weren’t meant to be. There was a different kind of ache associated with that knowledge. Usually, he tried to ignore it, to give himself release late at night when he was alone in his room with the door locked, thinking of another’s hand on him…

And usually, the ache remained, though he had been able to keep it at bay enough, to this point, to avoid the awkwardness that had taken over last night. He’d been almost certain that Arthur had…enjoyed the ministrations….He had, of course, been mistaken. Of course.

In any event, it wasn’t something he could talk to Gaius about, to anyone about, so it was best to put it out of his mind, and concentrate at the task at hand…

He’d been polishing a helmet, one part of himself wallowing in his feelings of being under appreciated, when his attention was taken again by the training field. He’d been watching Arthur of course—he still wasn’t in armor, merely his chainmail and gauntlets—but he’d been quite actively participating in sparring with some of the younger knights, and one of them had just knocked him flat to the ground. Merlin actually stood up, leaning out the window, trying to squint to get a better view, even knowing while doing it that that wouldn’t improve his vantage point. Arthur, of course, had gotten up, slowly, slower than usual, but had merely taken the fighting stance again, motioning for his oppenent to try again. Arthur didn’t get knocked down in training; he did the knocking down. This wasn’t good. 

Merlin put the helmet down, now concentrating all his attention on Arthur. He knew, of course, why Arthur was doing what he was doing, even against the best advice of friends and physician. More than anything, Arthur hated not being in control, and the fact that his father still pulled his strings like a puppet, always made Arthur grasp onto anything he could feel himself master of…such as commanding the knights. Merlin understood it, if not agreed entirely with it. As Gwen had said, with that weird woman’s intuition she was always spouting, Arthur hadn’t had an easy time of things lately. Merlin could forgive his impossible behavior, knowing that Arthur had undergone ritualized humiliation and what amounted to physical torture, and been confused and demeaned by it. He was trying to regain something back, some equilibrium…

And then, as Merlin watched Arthur, watched him moving slower than usual but no less determined, he saw something that he knew would break the camel’s back. He saw two figures approach the training field, and again, even without seeing their faces, he knew who they were: one was white haired Gaius, in his blue robes…and beside him, the bright morning sun glinting off the crown on his head, was the king, Uther. 

Uther motioned with his hand, and Merlin watch as Arthur made his way to him. Words were exchanged; and then Arthur slowly began making his way back towards the castle, back towards where Merlin was watching. He appeared to be limping a bit.

Merlin’s blood ran cold. He knew what had just happened. Arthur’s father had pulled him in from the training field, probably at the advice of Gaius, in front of all the knights that Arthur commanded, and ordered him to his rooms. 

Arthur had just experienced a new kind of public humiliation. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no”…..Merlin murmured.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin seriously considered running away and hiding somewhere, at first thinking that perhaps Ealdor might be far enough to escape what he knew would be Arthur’s incoming wrath. He discarded that notion as unrealistic, and then looked about Arthur’s chambers frantically for a moment. Maybe he could magic out all the goblets, pitchers, plates, bowls, vases, boxes, swords and armor and helmets and shields, all the hard, heavy objects that Arthur might be inclined to use as projectiles to throw at Merlin during what Merlin knew was about to be a spectacular tantrum. 

In the end, of course, Merlin had just sighed and shaken his head, resigning himself to what he knew was about to happen. The thundercloud that was the Crown Prince would be there very shortly, and Merlin did his best to steel himself. 

Merlin decided to simply leave things as they were. He quickly scanned the rooms to ensure that he hadn’t left anything inordinately out of place or untidy that might provoke the prince even further, laid out clean clothes on the bed, magicked fresh water into the wash basin and more into a pitcher at the table, with a goblet ready beside it. And then he simply stood by Arthur’s chair, and contemplated what punishment Arthur would give him, and fervently hoped Arthur didn’t sack him. He knew Arthur would view all of this as Merlin having been indiscreet, that this latest incident was Merlin’s fault. 

Don’t cry, whatever you do, he told himself sternly. Merlin hated the fact that his tears so easily spilled when he was upset. Don’t let Arthur’s last sight of you be that of a weakling.

He was trembling with anxiety and tension when Arthur finally opened the door to his chambers.

Arthur’s face was very pale, with two pink stains high on his cheeks, and he was perspiring heavily, his hair damp at his brow and collar. He was breathing hard, and Merlin had a very good idea that it wasn’t just from the exertion of walking up the stairs to his rooms. 

Their eyes met. Arthur’s anger and frustration all but vibrated from him.

Here it comes… Merlin thought.  
“Oh, shut it, Merlin.” Arthur groused, and then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And then he looked at Merlin again, and it seemed as if a different person than had entered the room was now inhabiting the prince’s body. 

“Erm…I didn’t say anything, Sire”, Merlin pointed out.

“Well, isn’t that something new.” Arthur’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Because you have an exceptionally big mouth, don’t you.”

“I spoke with Gaius only about your condition, no one else, and that was only because I was concerned….” That had sounded less high pitched in his head.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to shut it. And yes, I know you are concerned about me, but I needed to do this. I needed to know, for myself, that I can do what needs to be done, to continue training with the knights and attending to all my duties. I have told you before, that I have to set an example, and if I expect those I command to push themselves physically and otherwise, than I must demonstrate the same.”

Merlin waited for Arthur to say something else, to start shouting, to throw something or box his ears or…something, but Arthur merely stood still for a moment, in the middle of the room, not looking at Merlin. Arthur’s shoulders were slumped.

Merlin ventured, “I know. I know, Arthur.”

Arthur moved further into the room, rested his hands on the chair at the end of the table opposite to where Merlin was standing.

“I suppose you saw how I was called in just now”, Arthur broke the silence again. 

Merlin nodded, opened his mouth to say he was sorry, thought better of it, and closed his mouth again. He hoped Arthur appreciated his restraint. Maybe he would one day?

More silence. Merlin could only think how very odd this was, this quietness; Could it be a calm before the storm? That wasn’t how Arthur usually behaved. 

Arthur took another deep breath. 

“I will resume duties this afternoon, with the king at council. I want you to assist me with changing my clothes now, and then fetch me all available reports on grainery levels and bring them back here.” 

Startled, Merlin looked up at Arthur again. Apparently, he wasn’t fired then. He fought to keep the grin from his face. His grinning right now would probably annoy Arthur further, and he might change his mind. 

There was a knock on the door, and they both jumped. Merlin started for the door, to answer it; as he passed Arthur, their shoulders brushed, ever so slightly. 

It was Gaius, of course, with his bag of medicaments. He and Merlin exchanged a quick look before Merlin let him in, without a word. 

“Sire”, Gaius bowed formally. Merlin thought about how it always grated on him when Gaius bowed low to Uther. Uther didn’t deserve Gaius’ loyalty or his deference. On the other hand…Uther did allow Gaius to live, even knowing he had magic. Merlin also thought how, when Gaius bowed to Arthur, Merlin really didn’t feel that same bite of irritation.

“Hello again, Gaius”, Arthur said. His tone was clipped. “I’m afraid you’ve walked up those stairs for nothing. I do not require your services. You may go.”

Merlin thought that maybe, he might feel a bit of irritation at Gaius bowing for Arthur after all. Since when did Arthur speak to Gaius like that, in that tone?

“Sire, the king has instructed me to examine you. There is some concern about infection.”

“I will speak with the king. No need to worry, I will tell him that I did not permit your examination.”

Merlin saw Gaius’ eyebrow of disapproval raise. It was rare indeed for Gaius to show any type of disaccord with the royal family. 

“That is not the point here. An infection—“

“Gaius.” Arthur interrupted him, and this time his voice was sharp. “I do not believe there is any infection, but leave whatever healing salve you intended and it will be applied and looked after. I grow quite weary of an ever growing number of people involved in this. It is a minor…situation that you yourself said will heal quickly enough. I’m sure my father’s own piercing troubled him nary at all.” 

Merlin then witnessed Gaius do something he’d never seen Gaius do, not in the nearly a year he’d lived in Camelot and had known the old physician: Gaius raised his voice at Arthur and spoke of one patient to another, breaking his strict confidentiality rule. 

“Arthur!” Gaius snapped, startling both Merlin and Arthur. Merlin was pretty sure he himself looked like a trout, with his mouth open, ready to catch flies. 

“Your father was never pierced.”

There was only a moment, only a very brief moment of tense, very pregnant silence in the room; Merlin had seen, out of the corner of his eye, Arthur’s eyes bulge in shock at this bit of information. And then Gaius seemed to shake himself, and addressed Arthur again, this time in tones more familiar to both Merlin and Arthur. 

“I apologize, Sire; I need to explain. Your father was never a prince of Camelot, as you know. He and his armies conquered this kingdom, and he has ruled as her king ever since. The piercing of princes is an ancient tradition of Camelot. Your father wanted to be certain that you would never be questioned for your right to the throne, even for such an obscure technicality. He merely wants to cover all contingencies.”

Arthur continued to stare at Gaius, speechless, but Merlin noticed that he wasn’t looking quite as angry. He was, however, holding the back of one of the dining table chairs in a death grip. He took another deep breath, tilting his head back so that Merlin could see all the distended cords in his neck. 

After a moment, Gaius added, “His concern was for you, I’m sure, Sire, and your place in the dynasty. He wants nothing to come between you and your place on the throne.”

“Yes, I’m sure, and I’m so happy my genitalia could serve tradition and ceremony.” Arthur shook his head wearily, puffing his cheeks as he blew air out heavily, and let go of the chair. “Another day, I should like to hear more of what is expected of me and my body parts, but for now, please leave whatever pharmaceuticals you feel are necessary, and you may be on your way.” 

A pause, and then Arthur added, “And once again, Gaius I find myself thanking you for enlightening me, when no one else saw fit to do so.”

 

Arthur met Merlin’s eyes again then, and just shook his head in what Merlin knew to be a loud and clear indication of “I don’t want to talk”. And then gestured for Merlin to take instruction from Gaius on whatever today’s medicines may be.  
Despite the Prince’s closed-off expression and the stubborn set of his jaw, Merlin spoke. 

“Sire, please allow Gaius to see to your condition. You’re limping and bloodstained again, and I can feel heat radiating from you from where I’m standing. I am concerned…”

Predictably, Arthur cut him off, though his tone was more worn out than angry. 

“How can you be deaf with ears like that? Is it too much to ask that you follow orders for once?” He turned towards Gaius again. 

“I’m sure you have patients to attend to; there’s no reason for you to remain. Good day, Gaius.” 

Arthur spoke to Merlin again, over his shoulder as he limped towards his wardrobe and clean clothes. “If you wouldn’t mind, my poor concerned manservant, I would like some assistance getting ready for this afternoon’s meetings with the king.”

Gaius bowed to Arthur’s retreating form, quirked an unreadable eyebrow at the frowning countenance of his ward, and slipped out the door.

Merlin sighed. He eyed the collection of medicinals left on the table for Arthur and called after him, “Sire, sarcasm does not become you…”

“Never mind what becomes me. Just get over here, will you.” Arthur sat down on the bed heavily, and then appeared to wince. Merlin shook his head once, gathered the bottles and jar left by Gaius—a salve, an oil to be added to the prince’s bath, and a sleeping tincture that would also help with the pain—and made his way to the prince, thankfully without dropping anything. He set them down on the night table and set about removing Arthur’s boots and socks, his sweaty under tunic and shirt, and then had the prince stand while he very gingerly and carefully removed his trousers. He then made short work of a quick sponging down, removing at least the most of the sweat and grime from the prince’s recent, stupid exertions on the practice field. He toweled his shoulders and back dry with a towel, and then held the towel up, again mindful of they royal pride and modesty, while Arthur wriggled out of his smallclothes and let them and the cloths that had been absorbing the blood spotting fall to the floor. 

Merlin kept his eyes averted as he waited for the prince to lie down on the bed, but then looked up again when appeared to make no move. 

“It’s easier if I stand. Get on with it, will you?”

Merlin turned away, hoping Arthur wouldn’t notice his gulp, and quickly rinsed the cloth out in the warm water in the basin. He then knelt before the prince and took his cock in hand.

Arthur actually jumped as if burned, and Merlin squeaked in alarm, fearing he had hurt him. “I’m sorry!”

Arthur made an annoyed sound. “Dammit, your hands are cold.”

Merlin blew on his hands, and above him, Arthur rolled his eyes and looked at a spot over Merlin’s shoulder. 

From his vantage point on his knees, Merlin was face to face with Arthur’s ringed cock, and in the time it had taken him to try to warm his hands, that same cock had risen like a scepter against Arthur’s hairless groin.  
Almost fearfully, Merlin touched the soft cloth to the head of Arthur’s penis, murmuring “All right?” without looking up. Arthur made a non-committal sound. 

Merlin washed, from root to tip and back again, several times, deliberately avoiding the tip as he did not want the cloth to catch in the ring. 

Was it his imagination, or was Arthur breathing faster? His skin was very warm too, not feverish, but higher than was normal, it seemed.

He glanced up at Arthur, who was still not looking at him. His gaze was fixed on some place beyond Merlin, and his eyes seemed somehow…brighter than before. Merlin was more convinced that ever that something was wrong, that Arthur must have contracted some infection. 

Carefully, he moved to the tip, working around the ring, moving the foreskin several times in thorough but quick swipes. 

Arthur’s cock became fatter in response. 

Gaius had told Merlin to watch very carefully for any further sign of infection, and what to look for: colored discharge, a bad smell, discoloration, swelling. Well, it was certainly swollen, but Merlin, despite popular belief, was not an idiot, and was pretty sure this wasn’t the kind of swelling Gaius had meant. There was also a scent in the air, one Merlin knew well enough, and also not what Gaius had been referring to. He squinted, looking closer—well, there was a discharge, pearling around the ring at the opening, and slightly less on the underside where the second puncture was, but---Merlin knew what that was, and felt his own face start to heat up. He glanced up at Arthur again, hoping he was still staring off and ignoring him. Of course, no such luck. Their eyes met.

Arthur’s face was odd—not angry, though maybe a bit irritated, and maybe—embarrassed? And his eyes looked very strange, with his pupils blown wide like that, so that there was only the faintest trace of blue visible. 

Arthur cleared his throat and then muttered, “It must be just a side effect of the piercing”, and indicated his crotch with a jerk of his head. Arthur’s hands, at his sides, fluttered a bit. 

Merlin glanced back down at the fully erect penis he held in his hand now, which twitched suddenly, slightly but noticeably. He looked back at Arthur again. His voice, when he spoke, was also oddly rough. 

“Did it do this when Gaius tended to you?”

Arthur seemed to shake himself out of his stupor at that. His mouth tightened and he looked away from Merlin again. “I think that’s enough washing. Put the ointment on and allow me to dress, or do you plan on the Prince of Camelot to appear in council like this?”

Merlin couldn’t help it—he smirked as he stood to fetch the salve. His trousers rubbed rather uncomfortably against his own burgeoning hardening. He silently thanked his mother for her tailoring very, very loose clothes for him. 

His erection softened somewhat at the thought of his mother. 

Merlin rubbed the salve between his fingers to warm it and knelt again before the prince. He didn’t glance up at all this time when Arthur hissed through his teeth as he worked the salve all around the two punctures, moving the ring and the foreskin back and forth several times. 

“The ring is gold, isn’t it?”, he blurted. 

“Of course it’s gold. I am a prince, after all. What else would it be?”

“I don’t know. The books that I brought for you last night”, and Merlin indicated the books still stacked and untouched on the table behind Arthur with his chin, “They mention that it’s always gold…I wondered if you knew why.”

“Well I haven’t lost any sleep over it, trust me on that.” ‘

Gods, Merlin’s prince was a sarcastic, arrogant prat….

Merlin pondered the need for certain metals for such things, absently teasing the ring back and forth.

“I think that’s quite enough”, Arthur said suddenly, an odd tone to his voice, extricating himself quickly and carefully from Merlin’s grasp and turning away equally abruptly. “I can finish dressing. Fetch my lunch and bring it up here.”

“Did I hurt you…? I’m so sorry--” Dammit, he’d gotten distracted for a moment; he hadn’t meant to cause the prince, however much of a prat he could be, any discomfort. H was still very sore and tender, after all. 

Without answering, Arthur stepped behind his privacy screen, leaving Merlin still on his knees and bewildered.  
Arthur did his best not to rest his head on his hand. Gods, but he hated grainery report meetings that turned into full-on council meetings. And most of all, he hated it when Morgana was present at these same meetings. 

Arthur had sent Merlin off and hidden behind his screen before finally getting release—(and his come had come out of both holes…truly, there was something wrong with that). The healing salve had acted as a lubricant, meaning he’d only needed half a dozen pulls after Merlin had “tended” to him…and sigh, what was he going to do about that, anyway? He’d managed to clean himself up with one of the cloths meant for lining his smallclothes, and dressed hurriedly in undergarments, trousers and tunic before Merlin returned. 

The truth was, it had felt wonderful. He was incredibly sore all over, more so even than he had been right after the piercing itself. The only time he felt better, oddly enough, was when he got these odd hard-ons…brought on whenever Merlin touched him, tended to him. Somehow, the ring in his prick seemed to sensitize him to any touch, making him more easily aroused than ever before.

It was all very confusing. 

One of the reasons Arthur hated dealing with emotions, was that he’d been taught from early childhood to bury his, to ignore his own for the sake of honor and duty. Since then, he’d grown accustomed to not examining his own feelings too closely, especially intense emotion, for when he did, he often found the definition of “brutal honesty” to fit. 

He’d also been taught something else, from early adolescence: As a prince, he was expected to bear a legitimate heir, and preferably more than one, via an appropriate queen, as soon as possible. There would be no muddying the royal gene pool with bastards, Uther had thundered, on numerous occasions (and usually when Uther had had quite a lot to drink.) 

Arthur admitted, to himself only of course, that he was virgin and wholly inexperienced in these matters of conception and, dare he say it, sex. When he had turned fourteen years of age, his father had taken him to Gaius to be “schooled”, as he’d put it; and Arthur had exited Gaius’ chambers a scant hours later, white faced and squeamish and a bit traumatized. Uther had had Gaius explain just how babies were conceived. Frankly, Arthur hadn’t been quite ready for that, at that time. He’d seen noblewomen and commoner alike after that, heavy with child, and had wanted to hide his face, thinking, “They’d had sex! Ewwww!”

Of course, that feeling hadn’t lasted; Arthur had discovered, not long after, that his own “sexual organ” (Gaius’ words) was not just for peeing, and that there was unusual enjoyment to be had by touching himself. He still often pursued this activity in the privacy of his chambers, as often as he could, and truth be told, was more than a little gratified to learn that the piercing that had been ordered upon him had seemed to…enhance the sensations to a noticeable degree.  
Arthur was looking forward to a time when he could engage with someone else in the same fashion, but was ever-mindful of his father’s warnings about unwanted heirs. He knew that many of his knights often took squires, or even pages, as their sexual partners, particularly on long campaigns, and that that seemed to work for all parties involved, at least until they returned to Camelot and to whatever noble lady awaited them. This made sense to Arthur; at least with other men, there did not exist the danger of pregnancy. 

(Probably. A lot of strange things tended to occur in Camelot…it seemed that for a kingdom that banned magic so vehemently, it attracted more than its share of oddball curses and all manner of ensorcelled tomfoolery… Arthur didn’t think anyone would be completely out of the realm of possibility, including a man becoming pregnant.)

Arthur also heard rumors that his own father engaged with various servants, of both genders. He did not, of course, pander to rumor, and he particularly did not want to know the details of his father’s sex life. (Gods, he did not EVER want to know about his father having sex…it brought back those “ewww” feelings of adolescence.) 

What was disturbing to Arthur, though, was that he had also heard rumors of nonconsensual happenings between the king and others, that the king took who he wanted, whether the other party wanted it or not. This seemed greatly at odds with the ideals Arthur had been taught to believe in, nobility, honor, chivalry, as a knight and now as Crown Prince. How distasteful the thought, to take another against their will. Arthur could only ignore these hateful whisperings, for they were so at odds with the man Arthur admired and wanted to make proud that they could not ever be true, Arthur was certain of that. Arthur’s response to it all was to vow to himself that he would only take willing partners, and that he would be certain the other was amendable before he pursued them. 

On the other hand…

The truth was, Arthur wasn’t blind. He hadn’t not noticed that Merlin, despite his clumsiness and bumbling idiocy and silly, flappy ears, was actually…rather fetching. He had those cheekbones that could cut glass, after all, and that mouth, with their full lips…and his striking coloring, with the contrast between blue eyes and pale, pale skin and darkest black hair. And Arthur had seen him disrobed more than once, when they had cleaned up together while on the road or on hunts; Merlin’s baggy clothes hid the fact that those shoulders had some heft to them, no doubt the result of hard work carrying the prince’s bath water and mucking his stables and other chores. He had a fine dusting of wiry black chest hair that was…beguiling. His arse cheeks were narrow and tight and pale and his back had dimples right below his spine…..

And, Merlin had seen him looking at him more than once and had become red-faced and embarrassed and awkward and, Arthur knew, probably quite put off by him too. 

Arthur’s…appreciation of Merlin’s aesthetic attributes were something he would have to push down and put away, forever, Arthur knew, for they were not returned, and were, by principal, inappropriate. Merlin was his servant, and in some ways, in some odd realm Arthur could not define, the closest person Arthur had to a friend. At least, he knew he could count on Merlin to be forthcoming and tell him the truth of his own perceptions, and there was something fascinating and novel about that to the prince. He was so accustomed to everyone telling him what he wanted to hear…it was the reason why Merlin had gained his attention, more than once, in the marketplace on the first day they met, and also the reason why he hadn’t tossed Merlin out on his ridiculous ears, more than once, for incompetence as a servant. 

And Arthur was also sure that Merlin was just as inexperienced in the ways of pleasure to the body as Arthur himself, perhaps even more so. Propositioning him would no doubt only scare him off or offend him or even…have Merlin laugh himself silly over it. After all, look how very embarrassed Merlin became at Arthur’s erections when he was tending to the piercing. Arthur knew that Merlin was loyal and diligent towards him, he’d do anything to help him, but it was all making Merlin quite uncomfortable. 

No, Merlin wasn’t someone he could pursue, no matter how much he may desire him. 

Arthur forced himself not to scrub his face with his hands. This was the problem with making himself identify his own feelings; he usually wound up just about driving himself crazy with circular thoughts. 

He was committed to doing the right thing here, though, the chivalrous thing. He would not put Merlin in the awkward position of having to decline his advances. They would continue with their servant-master relationship, and if the tension in his loins sometimes became too uncomfortable for Arthur, well, he could always throw something at Merlin.  
Well, on a more positive note, it seemed like Morgana’s speech was finally winding down. He had only been listening with one ear, really; there were days, such as today, when Morgana’s voice, matter what she said, was like nails on slate to him. She was a skilled orator, but she truly needed to pick her battles and limit them, for now, to topics Uther actually cared about and might be persuaded on. As it was, her passion about _everything_ only made her seem shrill.

Morgana was talking about the need to distribute foods to the outlying villages including those not belonging to Camelot’s borders. While she was right in principal, and feeding the people was essential to Arthur’s way of thinking, Morgana’s speech was so dramatic, as they all were, that Uther always seem to merely indulge her and then went right on with what he was planning to do anyway. Arthur could have sworn that Morgana was now talking about…stallions in the sunset, or something like that? Gods….his life was surreal at times. 

Morgana was intelligent, compassionate and caring, with a generous heart, and Arthur was undeniably fond of his foster sister; she would make a great advisor to him one day, once she learned to temper all that energy and passion in ways that didn’t immediately make most of council wonder if she was having one of her woman-days. Arthur knew that he could always count on Morgana. 

His father was quite fond of her too, had always been, and Arthur sometimes wondered aloud how Uther managed such patience with her. He did have the dignity and the propriety not to add, Especially concerning things I would be severely punished for…

Well, no matter. Morgana was sitting down to polite applause now, finally, finally finished, thank heavens, and looking quite pleased with herself. 

Predictably, Uther simply turned to her and stated, “Thank you Morgana. Unfortunately, your suggestions are not feasible at this time”, and called for the next order of business. 

Morgana shot Arthur an outraged look that clearly demanded “Help me!”, and Arthur could only raise one shoulder in apologetic resignation.

Her answering look promised she was going to get him for not backing her up, (but really, what could he do?). Arthur was going to have Merlin remove all the breakables from Morgana’s reach for the next week, whenever she was in injuring distance of Arthur….

Arthur felt a slight nudge at his right hand and looked up to find Merlin beside him, handing him a scroll. Merlin gave him one of his private, amused smirks and stepped back behind him, obsequious but invisible, the perfect servant once again. 

Arthur sighed. This was turning out to be a long day, indeed. 

And it grew longer. The council session seemed to last an interminably long time, even for a council session. Most of the hold up was due to an argument between two of the advisors, and Arthur realized, when he finally took a good look at the two causing the kerfluffle, that one of them had been at the piercing debacle as a witness a few nights before. Arthur forced down his embarrassment, reminded himself that he was the Crown Prince of Camelot, it had been the advisor’s highest privilege in attendance, and besides, Arthur could be proud of what he’d…. presented. 

He felt a bit better at that thought and spent the new few moments smirking to himself. 

The truth was, though, that Arthur was in increasingly growing discomfort in his nether region. He felt every shift in his chair, and the one time he’d tried to get a bit more comfortable and cross his legs, he’d thought his dick was going to fall of and his eyes fall out of his head. He wondered if maybe the ring had caught on part of the cloth of his undergarments, and he had to fight the urge to pull his trousers away from his crotch. That would be noticed…particularly by Morgana. 

And Merlin...Merlin was just being plain ridiculous. He would turn to gesture for Merlin to fill his cup, and Merlin would startle him, standing at his opposite elbow, already pouring, and giving him innocent “What?” smirks when Arthur scowled at him Merlin knew “what”. He always did.

And Arthur was really too distracted to contribute anything to this session. He usually was able to offer suggestions or even back up for Morgana when she wasn’t being too melodramatic in her causes; today, though, he had to concentrate on sitting up properly and not showing just how physically uncomfortable he really was. He didn’t know why he should feel so much worse than he did when he’d started out for the training field that early morning. He hadn’t really pushed himself that hard, not really, and he hadn’t felt this bad, physically, when his father had mortified him by calling him in. 

Thankfully, Uther seemed oblivious to his difficulties. 

Arthur distracted himself with what he knew was a dangerous enough activity: daydreaming. He’d learned from his early teens to listen with one only ear open in boring, interminable council sessions and petitions of court. He let his thoughts drift where they may, hoping it would ease the discomfort and burning below his waist as two of the advisors at the far end of the table began to speak at the same time. 

Merlin was on his knees before him, as he had been that day, washing him…Arthur saw how Merlin lowered his eyes, thick black eyelashes fanning, as his ringed cock rose to meet him. It was level with Merlin’s mouth…Arthur saw, in his mind’s eye, sunlight from the window playing over the planes of Merlin’s angular face, Merlin’s tongue flick over his lush, full lips, moistening them, making them shine…the phrase “Kiss it better” came unbidden to mind…

Oh fuck and hell, had Arthur really just thought that? Embarrassed beyond the telling of it, he almost wanted to slap his own face…

He straightened abruptly…and knocked over the almost-full goblet of wine at his elbow, the scarlet wine spreading rapidly over various documents and papers. 

There was a flurry of activity as both Merlin and Morgana’s maid—goddammit, he still couldn’t think of her name—rushed to try to salvage the royal reports set out before Arthur. 

Arthur’s vision and hearing narrowed down to only one form: That of his father’s disapproving, smoldering glare. Uther had not said anything, but his expression of barely-contained contempt and anger spoke loudly and eloquently. 

Well, at least the advisors had stopped talking.

And Morgana was smirking at him. Well, this day had just become perfect, hadn’t it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin stumbled into Gaius’ workroom, dropping assorted pieces of armor willy-nilly as he went, and muttering, very loudly. “STUPID, arrogant, stubborn Prince with his stupid bad moods, his stupid fancy ring, his stupid, damnable pride…”

Gaius raised his head from where he stood at a cluttered workbench, carefully measuring a serum into a tiny bottle. 

“What happened?”

“Prince Arthur is a stupid, stupid, prat, that’s what happened…”

“It would not end well, were the king to hear your words,” Gaius reprimanded. “I suggest you take a few deep breaths.”

Merlin gathered up the various pieces of armor he’d dropped and dumped them all on a workbench across from Gaius. He then let himself drop onto the bench before it, bending forward to hold his head in his hands for a moment. 

After a moment, Gaius tried again. “What’s brought all this on?”

“Oh, Arthur had a terrible council session, he spilled something, he’s feeling lousy, his father sent him to his rooms again, I tried to help him, he wouldn’t let me, we argued, he threw things, here we are,” Merlin said in a whoosh of breath. “Stupid, stupid prat…” 

“Yes, you said that before”, Gaius remarked mildly.

 

Merlin stood, picked up the nearest piece of armor within his reach, found a polishing cloth. He attacked the gorget he held vigorously. “You know what he did? He set me to cleaning his armor. ALL his armor. Three sets of armor – and he's not even using it right now! ” He worked at a scratch on the steel collar, sanding at it with a coarse steel buffer. “I think he's sick of me, he's just trying to get rid of me because I know about the ring.”

“Is that all there is, then?” Again, that mild tone from Gaius, who had set back to work himself with his measuring and pouring of tinctures and potions. 

Merlin grimaced. “Well, I may have said something to him about what was being discussed during council. Sometimes he listens to my opinions!” he added, in defense of himself, when Gaius looked up and raised an eyebrow. “I said I thought Camelot should spare more resources to feed the people. And then I might have…said something about using gold for better uses than pecker jewelry.” Merlin’s voice had become decidedly softer and self-conscious as he spoke, the last part of his sentence barely audible. 

Truth was, Merlin had been thinking about the irony of using a precious, expensive metal like gold to use as an ornament on the prince’s genitals, when it might have been put to better use to buy food and resources for perpetuating the growing of crops, and therefore, providing more food for Camelot’s working people. 

Of course, his idea had not gone over well at all when he’d mentioned it to a very, very crabby prince on the way back to his chambers. Merlin had to admit it to himself, his timing hadn’t been the best on that suggestion…

“Arthur's pride has been compromised, Merlin. It’s been a very humiliating experience for the Prince, I should think. I would not be surprised to find him in a temper for a good while yet.” Gaius frowned as Merlin shot a glance to the closed door of Gaius's study, and whispered a sibilant phrase to bring the gorget to a bright polished shine. 

“Merlin!”, Gaius admonished.

Merlin took another deep breath, bent to his task again, this time without the aid of his magic. “It’s always about his pride, isn’t it. Stupid prince and his stupid pride and his stupid ring. Do you know what he can do with that ring…”

Gaius arched a brow. “I think that is quite enough. The ring IS there for a purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“Uther may well be unaware of some of the origins of this rite. It has to do with The Old Religion – fertility rites, and the blessing of the fields.”

“You’re joking.” Oh, the irony of that. Merlin smiled for the first time since he’d entered the physician’s quarters. He’d been wondering about the reasons behind the piercing. A full explanation hadn’t been offered in any of the books he’d found on the subject, and he’d even been pondering asking the dragon for information, in as couched and veiled terms as possible. Of course, the dragon having the enigmatic sense of humor that he did, he probably would have fallen off his rock with laughter…

Aloud, he said, “Well, I'm sure that's exactly what every prince needs, a posh gold trinket in his nethers.. Gold, Gauis! What a vanity!” He brandished a vanguard at his mentor. “Why not strong steel? Is that too common for a lofty royal? Or what about silver? Just as shiny. Bronze, maybe?”

“You wouldn't want something so sensitive to be made of steel, Merlin,” Gaius stoppered his tiny jar, and turned to flip through the pages of his book. “If you find cleaning armor to be a chore, just think of how susceptible such an...intimate ornament would be to rust spots? You'd be cleaning it every...” the physician trailed off at Merlin's furious blush, his eyebrow disappearing into his black hair. He cleared his throat and looked back at his book. “Silver would be less appropriate – subject to tarnish and corrosion when exposed to air or the acidity of urine.”

“And pewter? Bronze?” Merlin was studying the buckle on a gauntlet, picking at the worn leather. He didn't meet his mentor's eyes, focused on his work.

“Well, the lead content in pewter would be quite toxic, I should think, if introduced to the bloodstream through the open wound. Bronze, too, would tarnish – it is an alloy of copper and tin – you know how the castle roof tiles turn green in the weather. Really, Merlin – the gold is not a vanity – it really is the best material for the purpose. The ancient priests who designed this rite were well aware of this.”

“Isn't gold a soft metal? Should Arthur worry about it bending or breaking?”

Gaius's lips quirked. “The ring?”

Merlin's face flushed again. “Of course, the ring.” He glanced up, seeing the physician's lips twisting. “You're teasing me.”

Gaius chuckled. “For such a purpose, gold is never used in a pure, unadulterated form.” His voice took on his teaching tone. “The metal would be an alloy, with silver or some copper added for strength.” He paused. “Truth be told, Merlin, even our coinage is no longer made of pure gold.”

Merlin stared up at Gaius. “So the ring – it's not pure gold?” Gaius shook his head, puzzled as Merlin's jaw widened into another grin. “So... part of it is copper?” Gaius nodded. “A common metal? He's got his privates done up with something that's part common?”

Gaius heaved a sigh. “You won't be telling him this, Merlin.”

Merlin's eyes twinkled, as he bent with renewed vigor over his task. “No, of course not, Gauis.” Merlin couldn’t contain the chortle that escaped him. “But I'll KNOW. And THAT makes all the difference in the world.”  
Arthur wanked.

It seemed like the only relief from his pain in the past two days (other than one of Gaius’ opiate potions) was this.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. 

Merlin. Merlin was driving Arthur utterly crazy. What’s more, Arthur knew he was doing it on purpose, and probably laughing at him whenever his back was turned. One minute Merlin was the perfect servant (and Arthur had to roll his eyes at that thought), insightful and anticipatory and competent, and the next Merlin was making insouciant remarks about how the gold in his cock should be put to better use for Camelot’s people. Arthur gritted his teeth in irritation, again, remembering Merlin’s cheeky point that at least it was unlikely that bandits would find the ring and rob him of it. It seemed to Arthur that Merlin saw this entire situation as some kind of cosmic joke, more fodder to make fun of Arthur with. He just didn’t get it. Merlin had no concept of what it was to be prince and heir to the throne. Damn, Merlin…there were times when Arthur wanted to wring that scrawny neck of his.

And then there were the other times…lately that had been whenever Merlin had been near Arthur, when Arthur could smell Merlin’s distinctive Merlin-scent. He smelled of Gaius’ soap, apples and old books, herbs, leather, the polishing concoction he used on Arthur’s chainmail. It wasn’t an unpleasant scent, really, but what it did to Arthur confused and embarrassed him. Especially lately, ever since the night of the piercing, when Arthur seemed to be ultra-sensitive and overly responsive to, well, any sort of…stimulation. Arthur didn’t know why this was, but he was almost certain that Merlin was doing it all on purpose, just to get to him. He usually managed to keep inappropriate thoughts of Merlin naked and in his bed tucked away in the darkest recesses of his mind, for nothing else than for propriety’s sake. 

It wasn’t working anymore.

 

This evening, after completely embarrassing himself and his king during council, and being dismissed to his rooms by a very patronizing father (“You should rest, Arthur, before you languish further”)—Merlin had gone into another “vigilant servant” routine, trying to take Arthur’s arm while he limped up the stairs to his rooms, which had only ended when Arthur’s batting his hands away had nearly broken into a girly slapfest. And then, apparently getting his revenge on Arthur for the rejection, Merlin launched into his routine about how gold should be used, fluttering his eyelashes and smirking so that that dimple at the corner of his mouth became more pronounced and made his dopey ears all the more noticeable. 

Arthur was doomed; he knew it. So he did the only thing he could, the only thing he knew to handle such a situation. He shouted. Stamped his foot (and yes, that had hurt.) Threw things (which Merlin ducked). Called Merlin any number of insults. Ordered him away from him with a ridiculous amount of work to do. At last, Merlin had left him in peace, looking a bit put out himself (and by what right did Merlin have to be put out with him, anyway?) And Arthur was finally and thankfully alone, although terribly sore and in pain. The soreness didn’t seem to be getting better at all; in fact, he was feeling more discomfort than he had directly after the piercing itself.

And the only relief he got from any of it, was this. Touching himself. He’d simply scooped a large dollop of Gaius’ healing salve onto his fingers, pushed his trousers down his thighs, and lain down on his bed, knees bent, feet flat. Touching hurt a bit at first, and he had to be careful of the ring, for catching it would indeed be ill advised, but as he grew more erect, more responsive, the ache seemed to dissolved and was replaced with a growing sensation of warmth and pleasantness. 

He reasoned, as he lay on the bed, running his hand lightly from root to tip, occasionally breaking his rhythm to lightly touch the ring at the tip or to further spread the dribbles and leakings from both holes, that he was just following his physician’s orders. The healing ointment was to be applied frequently, Gaius had said so, and his servant was not present at this time to attend him. Arthur was taking his own care in hand. In both hands, actually.

Arthur cupped his sensitive balls with his left hand, not wanting to deny them the attention he loved in his zest to explore the cock that now was emitting copious amounts of pre- jizz from two openings. He rolled them lightly, knuckled the seam underneath, squeezed them in time to the increasing temp of the pumps from his right hand. 

His hips were now rocking with the building tingling sensation at the base of his spine, and he could hear his own breaths coming rapidly, raggedly. He was close, he knew. At this time, he felt no pain at all, just tight tension all over as all his muscles clenched in anticipation of his release. He was hot and sweating and….

There was a sudden, loud pounding at his locked door, and Arthur jumped, seldom having been so startled. Merlin, that had to be Merlin. Who else would have this kind of timing? 

“Go away!”, he shouted, heart pounding wildly, pumping himself frantically. His voice sounded hoarse and strained even to his own ears. Almost there, almost there….

He hoped the nngghhh sound he made hadn't been that loud....

“Arthur! Open this door at once!”

It was Uther.

Arthur did his best to suppress his whimper. It was astonishing, truly, how he could have gone from fully aroused and ecstatically on the brink of coming from two holes, to his present state: semi-flaccid, still leaking, and aching all over—in the time it had taken for his father to shout at him and for his brain to register who was doing the shouting. 

Hastily, he scrambled off the bed, every part of him aching and hurting and uncomfortable, and limped as quickly as he could manage to the door, calling “One moment, Father” as he did so. He was almost to the door when he realized his trousers were still unlaced, and he did them up as quickly as he could, as best he could, then pulling his wrinkled shirt down to (hopefully) cover his still-tented breeches and the damp spot in front. 

He knew he had to be a sight, still panting slightly, and his face must be flushed from his exertions for he was still very warm. And goddammit, his balls were still tight and ready and absolutely ached with the need to release. It was all Arthur could do not to hobble, or to groan aloud with frustration. He couldn’t seem to catch a break lately. 

He did his best to smooth his hair down with one hand while reaching for the door with the other, and then jumped in startlement again when his father yelled from just outside, “Arthur, dammit! What’s taking so long? What are you doing in there? Open this door now!”

Oh, if only you knew, Sire, Arthur thought .

“I’m—opening the door now”, Arthur answered lamely, pulling the door open. 

His father’s annoyed and imperious gaze met him for an instant before Uther pushed the door wider and let himself in. 

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and shut the door. “Forgive me for the delay, Father. I was resting and find myself moving a bit slower as I recover.”

There, Arthur thought. Maybe his father would be appeased with an admittance of weakness from his big wanking disappointment of a son…

His father, however, appeared to have either not heard his explanation or was ignoring him completely. 

“I wish to speak with you, Arthur, concerning a matter of some delicacy.”

Arthur’s right hand twitched slightly as his side as Arthur fought the urge to facepalm. The last time his father had said those words, Arthur’s privates had been put on exhibit and he’d been permanently maimed. What now? Was he going to have a ring put through his nose too? Were there more advisors waiting right outside his door?

Aloud, he said only, “Of course”, and indicated his dining table. Thankfully, it was clean and clear, as Merlin was still away, polishing all sets of his armor and chainmail. Arthur suspected he wouldn’t be back for quite some time, given the amount of work that assignment had entailed. 

Of course, his father sat at the head of the table—Arthur’s table—but Arthur made no comment. Instead, he offered his father wine like a good host. He could already smell evidence of Uther’s imbibing—after all, Uther was known to love his drink, and often began his before-dinner routine right around noon of the previous day. Uther had an incredible capacity to drink without showing any outward signs of tipsiness, without alcohol ever slurring his speech or altering his movements. It was an ability that Arthur wondered at, for he himself had been known to drink himself under a table without an overly large amount of fermented assistance.

Then again, there were whisperings that Uther had been drinking heavily ever since the death of Arthur’s mother, Ygraine. Maybe he was just used to it?

“What is this?” Uther asked, picking up one the books Arthur had had Merlin fetch from the library—the same books that Arthur had not even had the chance to open yet.

Uther’s quiet but demanding voice broke into Arthur’s thoughts once again. Well, good to get the ball rolling right away, so to speak, and not waste time on such silliness as inquiring how your son is doing while recovering from a medical procedure…

“I had those delivered to me from the library the other night. I wish to research the rites of Camelot and what is expected of me as a royal and first heir.” 

He hoped that sounded responsible and mature….  
His father, however, made a low, non-committal sound, and pushed the book away from him, an expression of slight distaste on his face.

“That is partly what I have come to speak with you about. I feel that I have been somewhat remiss in my duties to you as a father.” 

Arthur almost choked on his own tongue. Had his father really just said that? He fought to maintain his mask of detached, polite interest, and answered with only, “Oh? What do you mean?”

“It means that I recognize that you are of age now, and will have certain…urges. Quite normal, of course. The ceremony you recently took part in will no doubt bring about some feelings of wishing to…experience certain things. Experiment, even. I am here to give you my blessing. That is all fine, really.” Uther smiled at him slightly, apparently pleased about something. 

“I…really don’t know what you are talking about, I’m afraid.” 

Uther looked away briefly with an expression that spoke of his opinion of his son’s intelligence quotient. He tried again. 

“I have seen you eyeing various members of the royal court and some of the peasantry and servants. This is a good time for you to make yourself a man, find what you like. Put the ring to good use, as it were.” Uther raised his eyebrows. 

“Um. What?” Arthur said. 

“Oh, for heavens sake, Arthur, I’m talking about sex. It’s time for you to lose your virginity. Why must you make everything so difficult.” Uther grumbled. 

Arthur had a feeling that the expression of detachment he’d worked to perfect with his father from an early age had slipped slightly, again. 

He said nothing. For the second time in less than a week, his father had struck him completely speechless.

After a moment, Uther said, “Don’t be embarrassed. The first time will be a bit awkward, but I promise that that will not last. You will grow quickly to enjoy it very much, I assure you.” Uther smiled at Arthur expectantly. 

After a moment, Arthur reached deep within himself, found his voice, and said, “Father, I have to admit to being a bit confused here. You have instructed me to avoid casual liaisons since I was fourteen. You were very emphatic about this. May I ask why this particular policy has suddenly changed?” 

Uther actually looked pleased. “Ah, of course. I am pleased that I made an impression upon you in this matter. Heed my words now, Arthur.” Uther leaned forward, apparently about to impart some great wisdom. “There is an art required to conduct these matters, requiring finesse and discretion. You must choose the correct partners, of course, ones you are certain will not make a fuss, will not speak of your…partnerships. You were not of age before now, and lacked the maturity and the intuition for these matters, I felt. However, your recent handling of what I realize was a very difficult and uncomfortable situation, coupled with your coming of age, has made me realize that the time has arrived for you to begin sowing your wild oats.” Uther leaned forward again, this time patting Arthur’s knee. Arthur almost squeaked. He was still so hyper-sensitive to any touch…

“Don’t be worried, it’ll be fun!”, Uther finished with a flourish, all but grinning at Arthur. “There are some rewards to being heir to the throne, after all, it’s high time you began to partake of some of them.”

Arthur knew that he was expected to say something at this point, but he was floundering. His father was giving him permission to have sex, was that it? 

Fuck, but his life was strange. 

“If I may, Father…?” Arthur began, and was slightly encouraged when Uther nodded his head at him. “How does one go about recognizing a suitable partner, and ensure that they too are willing to…”partake”, as you say?”

 

Uther chuckled softly, looking fond, now. “They’re all willing, believe me, Arthur. You need not worry about that. I suggest you begin with some of the household servants. Most of them are of limited mental capacity anyway, although they are not without their charms. Some are quite…imaginative, and there are a few who are rather attractive in their countenance and body. They…” 

The door suddenly swung open with a bang, and Merlin backed in, arms loaded with armor and chainmail, half of which was slipping from his grasp and clattering noisily to the floor.  
“Hey, Arthur, I’m back, and your armor’s ready. Don’t ask me how I did it so fast, you’re just lucky I’m…oh! Sorry! Sorry, Arthur, um, Sire, and uh, Sire!” Merlin had finally registered the other presence in Arthur’s room, his face going bright red. 

Arthur had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. 

“Put it over there”, Arthur mumbled, indicating the place in the corner where his armor and spare sets were always kept. He knew Merlin would have made it over there eventually, but right now he didn’t want Merlin to overhear this conversation at all. He had a terrible feeling growing…

His father had only glanced at Merlin once, when the ruckus he’d made upon his entrance had interrupted them, and then had gone about ignoring him. Arthur had always known his father to be able to ignore his servants masterfully.

His father looked at him now and then slightly indicated Merlin with his head. He said nothing, but his expression clearly said, “See what I mean? Extremely limited mental capacity.” 

“As I was saying, Arthur”, his father continued. “The servants are always willing to engage with you. It is their privilege, after all, to serve us. That is what they are for. They may say no, but that is part of the game, they don’t mean it. In fact, it can be quite exciting, really, when they pretend thus.” Uther’s face was soft now, as if remembering something fondly. 

Behind him, Merlin dropped something else, very loudly. He heard Merlin curse. 

“But how do we know when they are playing and when they really mean it, when they don’t want to?”

“As I said, Arthur, they do want it. They may act is if they don’t, but they do. Trust me on this. You are a fine looking, desirable young man, the prince of Camelot. For you to take anyone to your bed would be their finest hour and privilege.”

Arthur’s stomach began to clench. Somehow, this didn’t seem right to him. And suddenly, he remembered a moment in time, an afternoon last summer. He hadn’t really thought much of it at the time…a young, pretty scullery maid, crying in a corner, while Morgana’s maid, the one whose name he still couldn’t remember, patted her shoulder and murmured soft nonsense. Gwen-something had looked worried and concerned and…angry, somehow, her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped line. Arthur had observed this, and had moved to ask if he could assist, but the look on Morgana’s maid’s face, and the way the scullery girl—a dark-haired, thin thing of probably no more than sixteen—had shrank from him. He had retreated then, and spent the next week wondering why Morgana wasn’t speaking to him, instead roaming the halls and shooting him daggers with her eyes, silently but eloquently accusing. He’d wanted to shout at her “What?! I haven’t done anything!”, but also knew better than to approach Morgana when she was in one of her moods.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen that scullery maid since that afternoon. 

It all fell into place—the whispered rumors of Uther’s sexual practices that Arthur had closed his ears to, determined not to believe the gossip. Apparently, Morgana had taken out her outrage on the wrong Pendragon.

Hell, but he’d been so incredibly naive. 

“But—if they don’t want it—if they are not willing, for whatever reason—what about honor?” Even to his own ears, Arthur’s voice sounded almost pleading, and…too young. 

“They are just peasants!” Uther’s exasperation made his voice loud. “You are not hearing me, not understanding me. They belong to us, they serve us, and we in turn serve them and honor them in any way we see fit, and they are glad of it.” Uther paused, took a deep breath. “For you, because this is your first time, I suggest you choose the youngest among those whom you find attractive. Far less chance of catching a whore’s pox…”

There was a shattering crash as Merlin apparently dropped everything that Arthur had ever owned, making Arthur jump and Uther sigh. “Dolt”, he muttered to Arthur. “That one’s not quite housebroken as yet, is he.”

Arthur had expected to hear a litany of embarrassed apologies from Merlin, but there was only silence from the other corner of the room. He looked up—and caught Merlin’s eye, for the briefest moment. Merlin was standing stock still, and looking back at him—and wearing a look Arthur had never seen before. Merlin never looked like that, that incredible combination of appalled-fury-disappointment-accusation-fear? Merlin was actually trembling a bit, his nostrils flared, and some bizarre trick of the late afternoon sunlight actually made his eyes appear gold, for the briefest of moments. 

“Merlin”, Arthur said, and had to clear his throat. “Merlin, leave that for now. Go and…fetch my supper up. A light meal in twenty minutes.” He didn’t think he could eat anything, not the way he felt right now, but it would get Merlin out of the room, out of earshot, for now.

And Merlin was walking to the door, not looking at him or at his father, his footsteps too loud. Just before he reached the door, he looked at Arthur again, and Arthur tried to convey, “I would never do that to you, never”, with his eyes. It wouldn’t have been the first time Merlin had seemed to read his mind.

But then Merlin had slipped out, slamming the door unnecessarily loudly. 

Uther just sighed. “You don’t see what I mean now? If that one were a bit less gangly, I might suggest him for your first time, but based on the degree of mental affliction he demonstrates, I would say leave him to cleaning chamberpots. Believe me, Arthur, you will find plenty more pleasing and less silly.”

Arthur’s stomach clenched further. He nodded.

“Well, then.” Uther made to stand up, signaling the end of their meeting. “I am very glad we had this little talk. Of course, there is no timeline for this, you should not feel pressured, though I do suggest sooner than later. You will be expected to marry in a few short years, after all, and then things will become decidedly more complicated.”

Arthur nodded. 

“Arthur”. Uther put his gloved hand on his son’s shoulder. “I do not want you to trouble yourself over the issue of servants and consent. If you should have the misfortune of bedding one who becomes too much of a burden, you may consult me, and together we can deal with the situation, whether it be sending the servant off to another land or sending her to Gaius for herbs to take expulse the…problem.” 

Arthur nodded again. 

Uther leaned in closer, unexpectedly conspiratorial. “It’s time you had some fun. Let the games begin!” And he grinned at Arthur, and patted his shoulder quickly.

“You may return to the training field tomorrow of course. I regret having embarrassed you in front of your knights today, for I have realized that you are the best judge of how strong you are feeling physically. Just don’t over do it.”

Arthur thought about how, a week ago, a statement like that, coupled with an apology and  
even the slightest bit of concern from his father, would have had him walking on clouds for a month. Now, it just seemed empty, hollow, a hypocritical statement of support from a corrupt and tainted man. His father. His king.

After Uther departed, Arthur stood for quite some time beside the table they had set at, where Uther had “enlightened” him on the sexual policies of being royal

And then Arthur picked up the book on royal rites and flung it across the room, as hard as he could.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur paced around his chambers, his earlier erection and blue balls forgotten. It seemed to him that everything, his whole life, was spiraling out of control, ever since this damnable piercing. Arthur had always been fairly confident in his role as heir to Camelot’s throne, as a knight, as a leader of men. The only aspect of his life he’d never been sure of, that in the dark recesses of his heart he’d always wondered and worried about, was his relationship with his father, and their bond.

And now he was wondering if wanted a bond with the man.

And Arthur was no longer confident about much of anything. 

He sat down at the table again, running his hands through his hair and trying to organize his thoughts. He was probably blowing it all out of proportion, what his father had said. Yes, that was probably it. He’d felt sensitive to Merlin’s reactions and his own reactions had followed suit, in empathy. An older man’s bravado regarding his sexual prowess, that’s probably all this was. He supposed his father could be forgiven a bit of bragging in his older years….

He also knew that that wasn’t it at all, that his mind was already trying to supply excuses and defenses for behavior that never should be excused. 

Merlin banged in again, carrying a tray, and Arthur sat up straighter. The timing of this man…

Without a word, Merlin began setting the place before Arthur, noisily banging plates and utensils with unusual force. He said nothing, didn’t look at Arthur, but Arthur could see Merlin’s face in profile, and his mouth still held that hard, thin line, and color was still high across his prominent cheekbones. Even the tips of his ears were pink. He radiated anger. And the fact that Merlin hadn’t said anything, when usually Arthur couldn’t shut him up…

So, this was how it was going to go, then. Arthur sighed loudly.

Merlin started spooning soup from the tureen to Arthur’s bowl before him, splashing copious amounts on the table, on Arthur’s hand lying beside the bowl, and on Arthur’s tunic. 

“All right, Merlin, you obviously have something to say, let’s have it”, Arthur grumbled. He shook his hand slightly, looked around for a napkin. The soup was hot. Tomato, by the looks of it.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sire”, and the word Sire , even from Merlin, had never been so insulting or so sarcastic. “I’m just a servant, after all, can’t think for myself.” Merlin made that lip-smacking sound he often did when trying to annoy Arthur further. 

And now Arthur was becoming pretty damned annoyed, too. He was the prince, goddammit, and if his father was right about nothing else, he was right about the fact that his position did afford him some privileges. And by what right did Merlin have to be mad at him, anyway? He hadn’t done any of those awful things, and he wouldn’t, not ever. 

More soup splashed, and a hot glop hit Arthur under his chin. 

“Stop it, you’re getting soup everywhere!” Arthur said loudly. 

“Can’t help it, Sire, I have no mental capacity after all.” If possible, Merlin seemed to spoon faster and sloppier. 

“Enough!” Arthur said. And Merlin must have seen something in his face, the fact that Arthur truly was becoming perturbed, for Merlin did stop. They stared at each other for a long moment. 

Finally, Arthur told him wearily, “Sit down”. He pushed the soup bowl away, messy trails of soup left on the table. 

“Look, I know you heard. I know you’re angry and upset. But the sarcasm, Merlin…” Arthur left the warning unsaid. Merlin just stared back at him, and then, that odd flicker again. Sparks of gold. Arthur made a mental note to have a glazier look at his windows tomorrow, for there must be something caught in the glass, to make Merlin’s eyes, however brief, seemed to glow like that. 

Another moment passed, and then Merlin seemed to sag. He sat down, in the same chair Arthur had been sitting in less than an hour ago. 

“I…would never do that. What my father suggested…” Arthur trailed off, embarrassed. 

“…Was abhorrent and disgusting and dishonorable and deplorable”, Merlin finished for him. But at least he was talking and not splashing soup everywhere and grinding his teeth, so that was progress.

“Great words, Merlin. Where’d you learn to talk that way, anyway?” Actually, Merlin often surprised him with his vocabulary and ability to communicate. He was one of the few servants that could actually read and write and do maths. Arthur imagined that Gaius had been teaching Merlin, but Merlin couldn’t have learned all of it in the short time he was in Camelot. There had to have been childhood education, somewhere along the line, and Arthur wondered at that too. Peasant villages didn’t usually emphasize formal learning, as far as Arthur knew…

“With my limited mental capacity, you mean?” Arthur rolled his eyes. “My mother taught me. We didn’t have a school, but she said if you had dirt and a stick, you could practice your letters. And she would read to me. And, and—don’t change the subject! What do you care, anyway. Peasants and servants are obviously not even people to you royals.” 

“That was my father talking, not me. I don’t feel that way.” Arthur leaned forward, resting his head on his hand for a moment. He was suddenly very very tired. He could feel spilled soup start to sink into the sleeve of his shirt and sat up again, lips curling in disdain. Dammit, Merlin…

“You didn’t say anything. You just went along with it all, completely complacent.” Merlin’s tone was hard, accusatory. Arthur thought again about why a servant’s opinion of him should mean so much. It did, though, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it didn’t or shouldn’t. 

“What would you have me do? He’s the king!” Arthur waved his arms around, frustrated. “I am not going to do what he says. You should know me well enough at this point to know that. Haven’t you seen me punish the knights for this kind of behavior?” 

“With what, a night or two in the dungeon? The two that raped girls were flogged with ten lashes each, and I helped Gaius patch them up, and they were back on the training field a few days later. One of the girls is still rocking in a corner and eating only gruel! How can you call yourselves noble?!” Merlin’s own arms were flapping in agitation, and he stood up again, the chair scraping on the floor. He started to pace, running his hands through his hair until it stood up in awkward peaks around his head.

Arthur just watched him. Truly, what could he say? He remembered the rapes with shame, and how he had wanted the knights in question banished from Camelot and stripped of their titles. Those that would do such a thing were pigs, as far as he was concerned, worse even than animals.

His father had prevailed, of course. A noble’s word over that of a mere peasant. 

“I am not yet king, Merlin”, he murmured after a moment. 

Merlin stopped and looked at him again, and Arthur had to look away. Merlin actually looked…disappointed. 

“I know, Arthur. There are just times, like now…when I wonder…” Merlin’s voice trailed off. 

“What?’ Arthur prompted, though he didn’t think he really wanted to know. 

And Merlin’s voice was suddenly very quiet, almost distant. “I have told you before that you are destined to be a great king. There are times, though, when I…question…destiny.” 

And there it was again. Merlin and his talk of destiny and greatness…where did he get all that? It always sounded somewhat odd, coming from Merlin. 

And again, what right did Merlin have to be disappointed in him? What did he know of destiny, of anything?

But it was also true that Merlin always said these things with such a lack of guile, with such quiet conviction, that Arthur wholly believed him, whenever he spoke of such.

“You keep saying things like that. Where do you get these ideas from, anyway?” 

Merlin sighed. “I read a lot.”

“I’ll bet”, Arthur murmured. 

Merlin seemed to deflate further. He sat down again at the table. Neither of them spoke for a time. 

“What is really bothering you, Merlin? Do you believe that I would make you come to my bed unwillingly?” There, he’d said it. 

“I didn’t say I was unwilling!”

“Then, what? I would not take another, either. How do you think I can change things so completely, when it’s always been like this, and no doubt always will be? I am open to suggestions.”

“I… think that you can diffuse and distract and head off in a lot of cases. I think you can be aware of things, especially at feasts and such, when the nobles often feel entitled to run amok among the servants. I think you can do anything if you really want to, Arthur, just by being a positive presence and letting anyone know that you don’t approve of things, even if you don’t say so out loud, in deference to the king.” Merlin made a face at this last, as if the word “king” left a sour taste on his palette. Arthur decided to let it go. 

Arthur just looked at him for a long moment, to the point that Merlin began to squirm a bit. And then Arthur stood. 

“I give you my word, not as a noble or knight or even crown prince of Camelot, but as a man, that I will never take anyone against their will, or without their express consent. And I also promise, on my honor, that I will do everything within my power to prevent and detract anyone within my purview of doing the same.”

Merlin just looked up at him. His eyes were suddenly shining damp, and Arthur knew this wasn’t any trick of the light. Merlin’s face was highlighted on one side from the window’s light, and his lips were full and pouting as he gazed up at Arthur from his seated position at the table, and _FUCK_ if Arthur didn’t want to kiss him, kiss him now. 

His ringed cock gave a twitch of agreement within its trousered cocoon of cloth. Oh, god….

“You’re not mocking me, are you?” Merlin asked. “Because your face just went all red.”

Arthur shook his head, cleared his throat. “No, I mean everything I just said. I am going to rely on you to alert me if I am not aware of these…happenings. And you, in turn, should be aware that things aren’t going to happen over night. But I promise you that changes will be made as soon as I gain the power to change them.” 

Merlin just smiled, not his goofy, delighted grin that always made Merlin look deranged and made Arthur want to roll his eyes and smack him, but the soft smile that made him seem older and wiser. 

“Do you believe me?”, Arthur asked after a moment. 

Merlin stood. “I do. And I in turn pledge myself to help you in this in any way I can.”

The two men shook hands, and then Arthur sat down again, embarrassingly aware of what was going on below his waist. It would not do well if Merlin noticed his hardening, not after what they had just promised….

Merlin seemed to transform into Merlin-the-servant again, making several fluttering, ineffectual movements around him, and then clearing away the messy bowl of soup and sodden linens from the table. 

“I’ll just…fetch some more of this, if you’d like. It’s gone cold, now.”

Arthur looked up. “No, I am honestly not hungry. Perhaps later. I would like some clean clothes, though...”

“A bath, maybe? Gaius said he wanted you to soak in the oils he left for you, for your…” Merlin gestured to under the table. 

“Yes, yes, fine, bring up some water for a bath, then.” Arthur carefully didn’t look at Merlin. 

“All right, I will, then. I’ll be back in a hurry. I’ll just, I’ll go now.” And Merlin had slipped out the door again, carrying the messy tureen of soup that hadn’t been touched, and leaving a trail of soup on the floor and dribbles all over the table and Arthur’s tunic. 

Arthur sighed. Merlin was a bundle of extremes. 

On the other hand, Merlin was earnest and quite noble himself, and Arthur had meant every word of his vow to Merlin. He would do what he could, such as it was, from this day forward. 

Actually, their discussion, despite its rocky start, had gone quite well. Arthur went over it in his mind, idly tracing some of the soup still left on the table, only half-aware of the sticky congealing. 

Arthur sat up very abruptly, very alarmed, banging his knee against the table in his movement. He rubbed it absently, not caring there’d be a bruise tomorrow. 

He’d missed something very, very important. Had he heard correctly, or no? He thought he’d been listening, but…

What was it Merlin had said? 

_I didn’t say I was unwilling…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Merlin hurried down the stairs, dripping tureen almost forgotten in his hands. He felt like hopping, like running, like whooping like a madman. The prince, the prideful, pig-headed, tart-tongued, prattish, sometimes dim-minded and oblique-eyed prince of Camelot, had actually listened to Merlin, hadn’t poked fun at him, and had even made a solemn vow to correct the sexual injustices inflicted upon the servants and peasants under the crown. Or, at least try to. As he could. 

No, no, nothing was going to deter Merlin from his joyful mood. He still felt a wonderful incredulity about the conversation he’d just had with Arthur. He’d gone in there furious, frustrated, and resigned that the younger Pendragon was hopelessly like his father, but--

There were times, not often but occasions none the less, when Merlin was made to believe that some of the dragon’s seemingly taunting declarations regarding Arthur becoming a great and mighty leader of all of Albion would actually come to pass one day. 

Hell, Merlin thought. I should try to talk to him more tonight, about other important things, see if he would be open to the idea of setting up a school for Camelot’s children. He seems appreciative enough of education…..or at least curious. Maybe the fact that I can read might inspire him to believe others from humble beginnings can do a lot of things if given half a chance….

 

Merlin had actually felt tears of pride sting his eyes when Arthur had stood up and made his pledge to him. He’d never felt more wonderfully surprised, more humbled, more…in love with Arthur, frankly. The light from the window had struck Arthur’s blond hair and given him an almost haloed appearance, emphasizing the strength of his face, the sculpted jaw, the blue of his eyes. There had been a moment there, between Merlin catching his breath and reminding himself to focus on the moment, when he had thought that Arthur had looked at him rather strangely, and he hadn’t been focusing on Merlin’s eyes at all….

Merlin’s cock twitched in reaction to that, and he picked up his already hurried pace down the stairs. 

_Don’t get carried away, Merlin_ , he told himself wryly. _Just because Arthur’s actually willing to listen and see sense for a few moments, doesn’t mean he’s ready to lower his standards to the likes of you_. He sighed, but then had to grin despite himself. _Oh, Arthur_ , he thought, his chest again swelling with affection for his prince. _There’s hope for you yet, even if there never really was hope for us_ …

His mind happily occupied with reviewing all aspects of the encounter that had so recently taken place, Merlin failed to notice the trail of soup he was leaving on the stairs from the tureen he carried. 

He was at the final landing, still mentally replaying the understanding reached with Arthur, going over every nuance of the words spoken, grinning with the remembrance, when it hit him…

_I didn’t say I was unwilling…_

Oh fucking god, he really was an idiot. 

He didn’t fall very far; there were only a few steps, after all. But the impact they made on Merlin and how he felt, and the ensuing sound of running feet and cries of alarm and concern on his behalf, made it seem as if Merlin had been thrown off one of the castle battlements. Millie was there, the rotund, maternal evening cook who called Merlin “Lamb” and “Blue Eyes” (and was always declaring him too bony and slipping him extra sweetmeats), now fussing over him like he was her own child who needed his head patted and kissed. Several pages were also there, of varying assignments, some of the young men unfamiliar to Merlin, and then Gwen appeared, carrying a covered tray no doubt intended for Morgana, hastily placing it on the floor and rushing to his side. She wanted to summon Gaius for him, even asked one of the pages to locate the physician, but by then Merlin had roused himself sufficiently from the moment of stunned agony of impact and the resulting flood of nearly crippling embarrassment that followed, to protest. “No, please, I don’t need Gaius, please, just give me a moment. Nothing’s broken, and I’m sure Gaius has others to attend to…no, no, please, I’m all right, really…”

And it was in those few moments, with the women still making hen-clucking sounds, and the teenaged pages helping him to stand, that Merlin realized what might be at least one of the reasons for everyone’s alarm: The soup that had spilled was tomato and looked like blood. Granted, rather creamy, oddly-hued blood, but about the right color, if one didn’t look too closely, and apparently no one was….

It also explained why Millie had not yet stopped carding through his hair and making sounds one usually reserved for those under a year old. 

Merlin could feel his face burning with humiliation, and with exasperation at everyone around him for still fussing, and most of all, with anger at himself for being so stupid, so distracted, so klutzy, so, so idiotic, to cause this kind of commotion, all directly following a productive conversation with the prince…after which he realized he’d made a complete and total arse of himself…and said prince was at present waiting for him to draw a bath for him, by carrying buckets and buckets and buckets of water up those three flights of stairs to the prince’s chambers. 

Gah…fuck his life. Merlin’s head hurt, his shoulders hurt, his back hurt, and most of all, his arse hurt. And he just wanted to be left alone and have everyone pretend this had never happened. Maybe he could just sneak back to his room, crawl under the covers, and ignore Arthur and Gaius and Camelot until he was an old man with white hair and a beard…

Someone lightly brushed the seat of his breeches and murmured, “That’s going to be black and blue tomorrow.” 

Merlin swiveled his head around. Adrick, one of the pages then, about thirteen years old, but much bigger than most of the castle boys in training to be squires. He met his eyes with unabashed interest and a bit of amusement. Not subtle at all, this one.

Merlin moved away pointedly and then called a halt to all the carrying on over him as politely but firmly as he could. Enough was enough. He was merely a bit bruised, he said, probably for the fourth or fifth time now. Millie looked like she didn’t believe him still, but did as he asked. He thanked her again, telling her that the prince was waiting on him for an evening bath and would have him in the stocks if he kept him waiting much longer. If Millie disbelieved him, she let the lie slide, directing the pages to help Merlin with hauling and lifting of bath supplies in a manner reminiscent of a knight’s authority. Millie was a maternal force of nature, and when she would no longer be allowed to stroke his hair and coo over him, she’d find another way to help him. Merlin silently promised himself he’d find a proper way to thank her later, perhaps suggest to the prince that she had earned a day off with pay…

Gwen touched his arm lightly and gave him a small, knowing smile before gathering her tray up and setting off for Morgana’s rooms. She was another one Merlin was so grateful for, always so kind and quietly understanding. It was from Gwen that Merlin had learned the most as far as what was expected of him as a palace servant; he’d been thrust into the role with nary any preparation whatsoever and it often still seemed like he was playing catch up. Merlin’s thank-you list seemed to grow increasingly each day…

Another of the pages moved past him with a bucket of cleaning water and set about removing the mess he’d made with the soup on the stairs. His booted foot crunched on a piece of shattered crockery as he moved out of the way. Well, time to stop daydreaming, despite the already-spreading stiffness in his body. There was always work to be done, and his status as the prince’s manservant didn’t mean he had others to help him, not usually, anyway. 

Merlin trudged off in the direction of the supply room where buckets were stored, and tried to shake off the feeling of weariness that was now settling over him after the rush of agitation an argument and then a fall brought on.

Baths in the royal palace were always labor intensive. Merlin and three pages made numerous trips up and down the stairs, each carrying two buckets of water. The full buckets were deposited just outside the closed door to the prince’s chambers, an Merlin and the others descended the stairs and repeated the process. Merlin’s trips were slower and more laborious than the pages’ as his body began to stiffen further in reaction to his fall; his lower back and buttocks in particular were starting to have a “pins and needles” sensation, as his feet did when they fell asleep sometimes. Wearily, Merlin imagined that one day, perhaps someone would come up with the idea of having water be more accessible, a way to be able access water from inside without having to fetch it and would invent some sort of miraculous new system…He huffed ruefully. It was another of his silly fantasies, of course. Gaius was forever telling him he had a vivid imagination.

Prince Arthur’s bath always required more water than the average bath, and the next step in the process was for Merlin to fetch the reason why: his bathtub. He’d once complained to Gaius that the thing was big enough to bathe his horse, and was terribly wasteful of water. Gaius had merely pointed out that with the strenuous physical activity Arthur was always involved with—training, tournaments, riding, hunting, even battle—immersing himself in hot water was sometimes the only way to relieve the inevitable muscle strains and pulls he sustained, enough to be able to get out of bed the next morning without assistance. And then Gaius had told Merlin to stop complaining.

Finally, Merlin deemed that enough water had been delivered. Thanked the pages, rolled the bathtub into Arthur’s room through the big double doors. Arthur was still sitting at the table where he had left him, one of the library books open in his lap. He watched Merlin with a somewhat quizzical expression on his face as Merlin set about moving buckets from the corridor to inside the room.

“You were quite awhile”, he remarked mildly. “I was wondering if you’d gotten lost. What was all that noise, anyway?”

“Just a little mishap, Sire. I dropped the soup.” Well, it wasn’t completely untrue. 

“All over yourself? That would explain your current state, wouldn’t it”, Arthur’s voice held no bite, but did sound somewhat teasing.

Merlin glanced down at himself, cursed inwardly. Why hadn’t his fellow servants mentioned that he was copiously soup-stained?

He half-shrugged at the prince, winced at the pain that caused his back, and settled for a wry smile. “Well, you know me, I’m a clumsy thing. Just let me finish bringing the rest of these in…”

Eventually, he’d managed to bring in the buckets, pouring some into the tub at room temperature, setting the rest near the fire to pour into the large kettle for heating. 

“Do you want any help getting ready?” Merlin asked, indicating Arthur’s changing screen, when the prince showed no signs of getting up. Merlin always whispered a warming spell over the water, and didn’t want to be caught at it. It would just be stupid, to be executed for heating water…

“No, I’ll be fine. Get the bath ready, you’re moving slower than usual tonight, Merlin.”

The prince himself moved slowly to his screen, snagging one of the large drying cloths Merlin had laid out of him. 

Merlin whispered the familiar warming spell, began transferring water from the kettle to the bath. After a few moments, Arthur emerged, cloth secure around his waist. 

“One moment, if you please, sire”. Merlin added the oil Gaius had instructed Arthur bathed in, then stood behind the prince as he carefully stepped up onto the small stool just for that purpose. Merlin caught his towel as he dropped it, saw a brief glimpse of pale, muscled buttocks as the prince slowly bent his knees and lowered himself into the water, a quiet sigh escaping him. 

Merlin looked away quickly, feeling his face heat, his cock twitch. What was wrong with him? If this was all it took to get him excited….

Fortunately, the prince didn’t seem to notice at all. “All right?” Merlin asked, meaning the temp of the water. That had sounded normal, right? 

Arthur just nodded, eyes closed in blissful contentment. He was a sight, his face flushed already from the steam rising above him, his mouth open slightly as he began to relax fully. When he spoke, his voice was low, husky. “I’ll say this for you, you do draw a good bath.”

Merlin poured warmed water over the prince’s head and started lathering his hair with sweet-smelling soap. Merlin would never tell him, but it was the same soap Morgana used for her hair. Gwen had told him so.

The prince said nothing, didn’t move, as Merlin briskly worked through the strands, and then rinsed with more pitchers of water. 

With that done, Merlin was about to offer to soap Arthur’s back, but stopped for a moment. He was so sore himself, his back aching, and his pain was beginning to make him fatigued. He could feel the edges of a headache begin to creep up from the tension in his neck….

“I’ll…just let you soak for a few minutes”, Merlin murmured, and moved to the fire to stoke it further. Couldn’t have the prince catching a chill….

“Why are you moving like that?” Arthur’s sudden, quiet question actually made Merlin jump. He turned to look at him. Arthur’s wet hair was plastered to his head, sweat was trickling down his face and the steam from the water seem to intensify his blue eyes. He looked back at Merlin expectantly. 

“I sort of…fell. On the stairs,” Merlin admitted sheepishly. 

“Merlin!” Arthur sat up in the tub, sloshing water over the sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have had you doing all this. Are you all right?”

Well, this was different. No insults on how he had three left feet? Where had his prince gone?

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine. Just kind of sore”, Merlin answered, and then vaguely indicated the injured part of himself. 

“You bruised your arse”, Arthur said flatly. 

Merlin just nodded. Ah, well, now the prince knew his arse was black and blue. Merlin fought a pained, embarrassed giggle.

Arthur just looked at him, an odd expression on his face. He took a breath. 

“You could soak…in the tub. It’s big enough for two, certainly.”

Merlin felt his eyes widened. 

“You mean with you?’

“ I don’t see anyone else in here, do you?”

Off Merlin’s look, Arthur rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to, if you’re embarrassed, though there’s no need to be. I just thought it would help your soreness, that’s all, and you don’t even have to touch me, the tub is big enough, and, and, oh, never mind.”

Arthur looked a bit put out, lower lip protruding slightly. He was pouting. Merlin had to fight his own delighted grin at that. Arthur refused to look at him, grabbing the soap and starting to lather his arms 

“Arthur.” Merlin said. 

Arthur glanced up. “What”. 

“Thank you. That would be…an honor.”

Merlin moved behind Arthur’s privacy screen, gingerly removing his soup-stained clothes, wrapping himself in one of Arthur’s towels. He looked, as best he could, over his own shoulder at himself. Yes, the skin on his lower back and backside was already starting to color. 

Nope, nothing odd about this situation at all. Not at all. The prince inviting him into his bath because Merlin had hurt himself was….

Unheard of, was what it was. Arthur had never done this before. 

Taking a deep breath, he walked out from behind the screen, past the bedroom area, to where Arthur waited for him in the bathtub. 

Just as Arthur had done, he dropped his towel at the last moment and carefully lowered himself into the water, slouching as low as he could. He didn’t look at Arthur at all.

The warm, soothing water enveloped him to his shoulders, and Merlin closed his eyes. 

After a moment he said “Ahhhh”.

And then “Mmmmm”. 

And “Ohhhh”

 

From the opposite side of nirvana, Merlin heard Arthur ask, “Are you all right, over there?”

Reluctantly, Merlin peeled opened one eye.

The prince was chuckling. 

“I am better than all right. This feels so damn good, Arthur. I had no idea. I barely fit in the tub Gaius and I use”, Merlin babbled. 

Arthur’s mouth quirked slightly. “Well, enjoy”, was all he said, and then things got very quiet. For a few long, wonderful moments, Merlin didn’t talk or move, and the prince didn’t either. 

Merlin was roused from his happy stupor by the prince flicking a bit of water in his face. “Don’t fall asleep”, Arthur said quietly. 

“Um. Yeah.”, Merlin said stupidly, sitting up a bit. “Do you want me to…” He vaguely indicated the soap Arthur held.

“Relax for a few minutes. I understand the healing powers of a warm bath on sore muscles, believe me. I just don’t feel like rescuing your silly self from drowning if you slip under”, Arthur was still smiling slightly, lathering soap across his own chest.

Merlin stared dumbly at the sight for a moment, imagining his own hands working across the pectorals, the nipples, and lower to his abdominal muscles….

Merlin jerked his eyes away, feeling his ears heat. Hopefully, Arthur would think it only from the heat of the bathwater. 

Arthur began splashing water on his chest, rinsing the soap. Merlin shut his eyes. 

He became very aware of the feeling of cooler air on his cock. His very hard cock.

He looked down. 

Yes. 

His cockhead was very rudely sticking out of the water.

What was he going to do? He supposed trying to push it back down under the water wouldn’t work—he’d have to tuck it somewhere, between his thighs or something, and that would just be…no. Arthur would think he was trying to wank in front of him. Merlin could just imagine the prince’s reaction to that. No, Merlin would just ignore it, wait for it to soften again. He was sure Arthur wouldn’t even notice it, after all. 

 

He chanced a glance up at Arthur, wondering if he should say something, apologize, or…

The prince met his eyes full-on, and then very slowly, very deliberately, looked at Merlin’s cock. And then back at Merlin’s face. And then just as deliberately, Arthur raised one eyebrow in an expression that clearly said, “So?”

And then things got rather strange. Not awkward, but…different. For one thing, Arthur didn’t seem to mind at all that while Merlin soaped up his back, very carefully not allowing his stubbornly jutting member not to touch Arthur, that Arthur’s own ringed cock was quite visibly also out of the water, tall and proud, and that Arthur touched himself gently more than once…and he wasn’t washing it. Merlin had wanted to ask him how it was, if it was paining him or given him any trouble, but somehow sensed that talking about the prince’s dick piercing right now wasn’t the way to go. 

They both moved around a lot in the tub, and a lot of water sloshed onto the floor., and then Arthur soaped Merlin’s back and shoulders for him, and then lightly pushed him under the water to rinse off the soap and wet his hair, and then washed Merlin’s hair for him. Merlin said nothing, just let him, and thought about a lot of things. Had someone told Merlin that eight dancing girls with veils were about to enter and put on a show, he would have been more likely to believe it than the prince tending to him in a shared bath. 

And then Merlin gathered himself up and all the courage he could muster, and pulled the prince’s calves and feet onto his submerged lap (away from his cock, very carefully away from it), and started soaping the prince’s toes. It was, after all, the right thing to do, for the prince trying to do it for himself would no doubt strain his injury…

The entire time, neither one of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the fire’s soft crackle and the slight swish and lapping of the water. 

They stayed in past the time the water cooled. With the prince in such close proximity, Merlin could hardly murmur a warming spell. His hands and feet were wrinkled and he was starting to shiver, and yet he knew that when he or the prince exited the tub, finally, that things were going to change between them. He wasn’t sure how, or how he knew; he only knew that it was so. 

Predictably, it was Arthur who declared first that they should leave the tub, and that Merlin’s lips were starting to turn blue. And then, in passing Merlin on his way out of the tub, Arthur had lightly dragged a knuckle across Merlin’s lips, as if to illustrate the point.

Merlin shivered again, this time not from the cooling water.

He followed Arthur out of the tub, now watching unabashedly as muscled, pale buttocks rippled when Arthur reached one leg over the side, then the other, and carefully stepped out. He also silently noted that, like his own, Arthur’s erection hadn’t flagged.

Not sure what else to do, Merlin mechanically picked up one of the dropped towels and began to rub Arthur down with it. Arthur stood still, his back to Merlin. This was all part of a familiar routine when Arthur bathed, although this was the first time Merlin had toweled him when Merlin himself was also naked and wet. 

When Merlin began toweling Arthur’s hair, Arthur gently took the towel from Merlin and began to dry Merlin with it. And since they were now face to face, and very, very close, Merlin could see that Arthur’s face was flushed pink, and see the rapid flutter of the pulse point in Arthur’s neck. Merlin tried to keep his own eyes somewhere just past Arthur’s shoulder while Arthur wiped him down…but then, Arthur was actually crouching before him, long, smooth expanse of shoulders and back curved, drying Merlin’s legs and feet. This…this was unique, and intimate, and Merlin prayed that his now painfully hard cock would not embarrass him early. 

More than that…this was humbling, to have his prince all but kneeling before him, a mere servant…well. Merlin was more than that, true, but Arthur didn’t know that, and for the proud Arthur to do this for him…

Merlin reached down, gently tugging on Arthur’s arm, bidding him to stand. 

“Thank you, Arthur”, Merlin murmured. The simple words could never express the quiet wonder he felt at the favor Arthur had gifted him with this night. “Thank you, my Prince.”

Arthur just looked at him, and Merlin nearly startled then at what he saw in Arthur’s face. Vulnerability. Uncertainty. Shyness. Even…nervousness. Arthur didn’t get nervous. He’d told Merlin that himself! 

Merlin didn't think he'd ever felt more fond.

Arthur looked away briefly, and then back at Merlin. He parted his lips slightly. “Merlin. I…erm. Yes. I think I might know. Well. That is…” Arthur’s voice was very hoarse, and he cleared it. 

And then, Merlin swore, he saw Arthur square his shoulders as if readying himself for trial or battle, and his voice took on the conviction it did when speaking in the royal court, or to his knights.

“ I haven’t forgotten our earlier conversation. I believe that I might know you to be willing to…share my bed.” And here, Arthur’s eye contact fluttered away. “I will make no assumptions, however. If you are willing…” 

“Yes.” Merlin said. 

That stopped Arthur. “Yes?”

“Yes”, Merlin repeated. “Yes, I am willing. I want to. Yes.”

And with the sound of his own heartbeat pounding so loud in his ears, Merlin did the bravest and scariest act of his life. He leaned forward just enough to rest the palm of his hand on the jut of Arthur’s bare hipbone, and touched his lips to Arthur’s parted ones. The contact lasted mere moments, chaste and dry and sweetly shy for both of them. 

When he pulled back enough to look Arthur in the eye again, the ring of Arthur’s cock brushed against his thigh. 

Arthur could feel Merlin shudder against him, hear his gasp, and Merlin quickly grabbed his own cock, squeezing it hard at the base and looking at Arthur with an expression of equal parts startlement and embarrassment. 

Arthur couldn’t say how much it pleased him, to see Merlin’s obvious excitement and interest so clearly, so much so that Merlin has to fight not to come from just a tiny brush of his own cock against his leg. He felt oddly touched by it too, almost to the point of his eyes starting to sting. This silly, earnest, loyal, maddening, good hearted, funny, quirky boy from some far away tiny village was his first partner, and honestly, his first real friend, and wanted him, Arthur, this much. Not the crown prince, for Merlin was very outspoken by just how much that does not impress him; but Arthur, himself, arrogance and warts and prattishness and all.

He felt his face heating further, and this time not from lust, so to cover himself, he lowered his head and tasted one of Merlin’s nipples. He couldn’t see Merlin’s face, and didn’t want to; he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, inhaling the soapy-clean scent of him, along with the light musk that was beginning to permeate the air. Beneath his tongue was coarse hair and a pebbled bump of areola. He heard Merlin make a small sound in the back of his throat, and thought, _Oh, he likes that_ …

Merlin touched his head lightly, almost tentatively, ran his hands though his hair, kissed and licked a trail down his neck. He heard a groan, realized that it was himself that made the sound. He shifted his position slightly to lick and suck the opposite nipple, wrapped an arm around Merlin’s waist.

Merlin continued to card a hand through his hair, even combing out the tangles, and the motion was oddly soothing to Arthur. Merlin kissed Arthur’s neck, his shoulder, and then the other hand was ghosting down his back to cup his arse, caressing and squeezing it rhythmically.

 _Ohhhhh_ ….

He felt Merlin’s cock brush against his own, just a feather-stroke, and felt his knees spasm slightly just as his cock twitched again. 

Arthur raised his head, about to tell Merlin to move to the bed, but Merlin was looking at him with those blue eyes that were now heavy lidded, and those lush, plump lips and his high cheekbones, and Arthur couldn’t help himself, he dragged a thumb over one cheekbone, down his slightly stubbled cheek, and then rested his thumb for a moment on his chin. 

Merlin smiled then, his goofy, big eared smile, and it was Merlin who spoke first.

“To bed, then?”

This was a night of enlightenment, of both the simple and the profound, Arthur was finding. One example was the fact that he would never have dreamed that his hand lightly caressing Merlin’s pale, smooth back, feeling the bumps of his spine, could feel so sensuous, so erotic.

Another was realizing just how very, very keen he was on having this night in his bed with Merlin. So much so that when they completed the short walk from the living area to Arthur’s bed chamber, and Merlin hesitated, turned unsure eyes towards Arthur, that Arthur thought maybe, maybe Merlin was about to change his mind…and Arthur may just have to run himself through with his own sword. 

It would seem his worst fears were about to be realized. Merlin stopped, fidgeted, moved out of his caress, lowered his reddened face. “Arthur, I…” he began.

Hoping desperately to save this, Arthur cut in, “Don’t be afraid! I won’t hurt you, I give you my word. Only what you want…”

Merlin actually managed a breathy chuckle. “No, no, it’s not that. I want you very much, I trust you, it’s just that, I’ve…never.” And he indicated the bed with a gesture of his chin. 

“I just don’t want to disappoint you, is all.”

Oh. Was that all? Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes, Merlin….

“Of course you haven’t. I haven’t either, as you well know. We’ll figure it out.” Arthur began drawing Merlin nearer again, and thankfully, Merlin was rapidly losing his look of uncertain reluctance. 

“You read a lot, I know, all those naughty books from the library. The rest, we can improvise. “

Merlin seemed to consider this, and saw the logic apparently, because he was running a hand down Arthur’s arm, resting a hand on his hip. 

“All right?”, Arthur asked. He kissed Merlin’s neck, stroked his back, his arse cheek, rubbed his face lightly in the space between his shoulder and neck. 

He felt Merlin nod, felt the vibration when Merlin hummed acquiescence. 

His heart pounding, Arthur lay down on his bed, and held his arms out to Merlin. 

They needn’t have worried. Once they were laying down, skin to skin, instinct took over, and it was visceral, without the need for thought. They certainly were not consulting any books, wondering if they were doing things wrong. They used tongues and fingertips and entangled legs down to their toes. And after a time, they so ached with the need for more that it really was uncomfortable, to the point of almost-pain. When their cocks brushed together again, and they both groaned, agonized sounds, it was Merlin, so accustomed to looking after his prince, who parted Arthur’s thighs and knelt up between them.

It was natural, again, without any bidding, for their cocks to fit together, for Arthur’s big hand to cover Merlin’s longer but less wide hand, and for both of them to stroke and be stroked. 

What wasn’t natural, and wasn’t pleasant, not at all, was the real pain Arthur felt in his still-healing cock. His erection hadn’t caused him pain, the light touches up to this point had only enhanced his sexual arousal, and Merlin’s hand and his own on it, from the base to almost the tip, felt wonderful, but the cockhead was still so sore. The pain mixed with pleasure, yes, but it was too much, too much…it hurt. 

He didn’t want to stop, especially not when he looked at Merlin’s face, saw his head tilted back, his long expanse of throat exposed, eyes half-shut, adams apple bobbing as he gulped, all but entranced in his own stimulation and pleasure. Merlin’s cock, long, pale, slightly curved at the end—longer than Arthur’s, he had noted early on, but Arthur’s own was thicker—was weeping large amounts of precum, smoothing the way for both of them.

Arthur gasped when their hands once again reached the head of their cocks, and Merlin added a slight twist to his wrist. Apparently thinking the gasp was one of pleasure, Merlin smiled slightly and did it again, brushing against the ring once more.

This time, the sound Arthur made, somewhere between a whimper and a yelp, was unmistakably that of pain, and Merlin’s eyes popped open, fully aware and horrified. 

“I’m sorry! Oh, god, Arthur, I am so sorry, I know you must be sore, the ring—I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay”, Arthur tried to soothe him. The last thing he needed was another case of blue balls if Merlin decided to stop. “Just take it a bit more lightly, will you.”

Merlin looked down at their still touching, leaking cocks for a moment, then back at Arthur. “No, no, that won’t work, I can’t hurt you.”

“Just—“ Arthur began.

“Shh”, Merlin said, and smoothed his hand over Arthur’s flat belly, over the lightly-stubbled pelvic area where he had had pubic hair a few days before. “I’ve a better idea.” 

“What are you—oh. Oh!” Arthur all but yelled when Merlin bent and placed a gentle kiss to the tip of dick. His daydream of earlier that afternoon came back to him—Kiss it better. How in the hell could Merlin have known…

It seemed, though, that sweet, bashful, virginal Merlin had more surprises for him tonight. Merlin kissed the head again, and then lightly licked the tip with his tongue. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he noted Arthur’s pleased reaction to that, and then—

Merlin slipped his tongue through the ring in his cock and waggled it, very, very gently, back and forth. 

The sight of Merlin naked and kneeling over him, flicking the tip of his tongue through the ring in his penis, was something that Arthur could never have imagined. He thought that maybe, maybe, his father was right in this and that the past few days of pain and embarrassment and confusion may have some purpose after all. And that thought, and the sight of Merlin smiling at him around the tip of cock, made him throw back his head and laugh. Not the deep hearty laugh that’s expected of him, a man and a royal and a warrior, but the delighted, high pitched, genuine giggle he rarely allowed to escape him. 

Apparently in response to that, Merlin chuckled a bit too, and the resulting huff of air on him, and the vibration of his laugh, almost did Arthur in. He stopped laughing, but he couldn’t stop smiling. 

Merlin wass too far away for him to reciprocate. Arthur couldn’t stroke his cock, but he touched what he could, his head, his thigh, his hand. 

Merlin pulled his mouth away for a moment, looked at Arthur, murmurs “You like?”, and Arthur would’ve like to tell him that if he didn’t continue right then, he wouldn’t like it at all. He just looked at Merlin, who seemed to get the hint, returned to his work with focus. 

Merlin began to explore the two openings made by the ring in earnest, laving his tongue over and over them, dipping the tip in. He licked the generous pearls of pre-come that kept forming, sucked on the fat vein on the underside of Arthur’s cock, took Arthur’s entire cock into his mouth almost to the base. Always, though, he returned to the head and its small ringed jewel, teasing, moving, manipulating it back and forth, all the while checking on Arthur’s reactions from under his lowered lashes. Without fail, he was always gentle, but also always purposeful. His fascination with the ring soon had Arthur’s head tossing on his pillows, making sounds he would never admit to anyone not present in the room then. His hips bucked a bit of their own accord, pre-come dribbling from both holes in his prick. Soon, soon, he was going to come—

Merlin made slurping noises, messily spreading his saliva to the entire head of the cock, lightly pressed his hands to both sides of Arthur’s hips to keep him still, and then blew on the wet head. And then Merlin giggled a bit when he saw the goosebumps rise up over Arthur’s belly and upper thighs.

“Merlin!”, Arthur hollered, the threat of coming held at bay for the moment. 

In response, Merlin shifted slightly on his knees, moved his head lower, snuffled with his nose at Arthur’s sac, licked at one side and then the other. He traced the seam on the underside with his tongue, took both balls into his mouth at once and rolled them around. Arthur’s dripping cock rested against Merlin’s cheek, held there with the slightest of pressure between Merlin’s thumb and forefinger. When Merlin shifted his position again, Arthur could see a small smear of milky pre-come on his cheek. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning. 

Merlin went back to the ring again, toying with it with only the very tip of his tongue, not touching Arthur’s cock at all, just made the ring move for him. The cockring, it would seem, had become a plaything for Merlin, and he was intent in his play. He held his own cock in one hand, only occasionally stroked himself, and with the other hand, he held Arthur’s cock, or fondled and rolled his balls. 

Arthur was making sounds again, frustrated and needy, and his breath came in harsh, gasping pants. The room smelled of sweat and sex. He looked at Merlin through half-closed eyes. Merlin was flushed pink down to his chest, his hair matted to his forehead and the back of his neck, and his eyes, when he raised them to meet Arthur’s for a moment, were blown wide and glittering with lust. It was another sight Arthur thought he’d never witness in his life.

Merlin shifted again, went back to working on Arthur’s testicles, nosed against them, and stroked his cheek against Arthur’s shaft. Arthur knew he was sounding ridiculous , the bubbling whimpers and curses and grunts beyond coherence. He’d beg Merlin to do something, anything, but he didn’t know what; what Merlin was doing was driving him mad. 

It seemed only natural then, when Merlin continued his route down, kissing the insides of Arthur’s thighs, parted them further, and licked in his cleft. The surprise of that actually made Arthur shout wordlessly. Startled, Merlin pulled away, knelt up, looked at him guiltily. “Sorry, sorry, You don’t like--?” he asked, scrubbing a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I just thought—we just had a bath, and—“

“Merlin, do it! Go ahead, just do something, I didn’t—just go ahead!” Arthur felt kind of guilty for yelling at Merlin and for ordering him then, and for not making much sense, but Merlin didn’t seem offended. He went back to what he was doing, and the next thing Arthur felt is the slightly rough, wet sensation of Merlin’s tongue dragging down the cleft of his arse. And then Merlin held him apart with his thumbs, and circled his hole tentatively, and then with more surety. Arthur closed his eyes and just let himself moan. How could anything feel so dam good… 

The sensation of his arsehole being probed by this damp, spongy, somewhat rough organ was so very very new and amazingly arousing that Arthur felt himself just on the edge again. Of course, that was just when Merlin decided to come up for air, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and checking on Arthur’s reactions again. He seemed to find what he was looking for in Arthur’s face, for he positioned himself again, and Arthur happily anticipated the tongue in him again. 

Once again, Merlin surprised him. Merlin’s own neglected cock was so swollen and pink that it looked painful, and was dribbling so much that his coarse black pubic hairs were soaked with it. Merlin was holding his cock with one hand, stroking himself and trying to frot against Arthur’s hip, his balls. His eyes were all but rolling back in his head when Merlin made a strangled “Nnnggghhhh” sound and came over Arthur’s upturned bottom. 

Arthur just blinked at him owlishly for a moment before what had just happened fully registered, 

_Merlin just came on my arse. Merlin just came on my arse._

Merlin looked so befuddled, so embarrassed and surprised, and so overtaken by the intensity of his first orgasm in the presence of another, that Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. Despite desperately needing his own release, and soon, Arthur wrapped his legs around Merlin in a kind of embrace, and laughed some more. Merlin, for his part, looked equal parts sated and sheepish. And then he laughed, too, though somewhat shakily. 

Arthur just stroked Merlin’s kneeling thighs, felt the slight quivers in them still. His own amusement died down, and he recognized, somehow, that though Arthur’s own need to come was becoming a painful thing, that that had been a vulnerable moment for Merlin. He smiled as reassuringly as he could, hoped that the light strokes he was making on Merlin’s legs would ground him.

As always, Merlin responded to him, his eyes lost some of the glazed look therein, his breathing evened out, and he nodded slightly at Arthur. He took Arthur’s hands in his own, kissed the knuckles of his fingers quickly, lightly, and before the moment could become too sappy for either of them, he dipped his head down again, rested his hands on Arthur’s arse cheeks and cleaned him up with his tongue. 

“Nggghh”, Arthur said helpfully then, and also, “Mmmfff.” He idly wondered how Merlin’s tongue on what he sat on frequently could be so…so….well, whatever it is, it was making him make these sounds now, and Arthur thought that if Merlin stopped any time soon, he was going to become very cross with him.

But Merlin didn’t stop. He cleaned up all of the sticky warmth, and even dipped his tongue between Arthur’s arse cheeks again, where Arthur was pretty sure there wasn’t any come. If there was, it was on Merlin’s tongue now, and in his mouth, and then Arthur decided he wasn’t going to think about anything anymore, and he closed his eyes and just sort of hummed. There were slurping sounds again, when he took a breath to hum again, and then Merlin pulled away a little and made a smacking sound with his lips, one Arthur has heard him make before, only much quieter than what he was doing now.

When Arthur managed to peel his eyes open again and look at Merlin, he was just pulling away a bit from his position between Arthur’s arse cheeks. There was a bit of come on both sides of his face, which Merlin didn’t seem to notice at all, but Arthur vowed that he was going to lick off at some point…that is, if he didn’t die soon of not being able to come.

“Merlin”, he said, and his voice reminded him of the bullfrogs he used to find in late summer as a child, the ones he used to try to scare Morgana with. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Merlin”. There, that was a little better, though he was still very hoarse. His throat was so, so dry…as opposed to his cock, which he was pretty certain would be a veritable fountain, if it could just receive the proper attention. 

Merlin looked at him, raised his eyebrows in inquiry. 

“Merlin, I’ve got to…god…I can’t…you…please I have to come.”

“Yes, sire”, Merlin answered dutifully, and while his voice was also very rough now, there was a different quality to his. “I understand that you would like to come now. Is there anything in particular you would like me to do about that?” Merlin looked like a woodland creature, all sparkling, mirthful eyes and smirking mouth. The effect was only slightly ruined by the streaks of Arthur’s jizz on his face.

Arthur stared at him in wordless astonishment. The little smug bastard was teasing him, driving him wild and just to the edge, and then pulling him back! 

“Grrrrr!”, Arthur yelled, pulling Merlin up to him by his biceps, and Merlin was laughing raucously, and kissing Arthur’s nipples, and his belly, and then finally, finally, took his cock back in his mouth, where it belonged, where it always belonged. 

It didn’t take long. Arthur had been ready for so long, since before this even started. Merlin pursed his lips and sucked gently at the very tip of Arthur’s cock, and then his talented tongue was playing with the ring again, making the ring dance, making his cock dance. Merlin sucked on the second hole and the pre-cum leaking there, ran his tongue down the entire shaft leaving a stripe of saliva, and returned to the cock head again, and then repeated the process. 

When Arthur was finally granted release, groaning mindlessly, he came in Merlin’s mouth, and on Merlin’s chin, the twin holes spurting come that Merlin didn’t quite manage to swallow all at once. And then Arthur laid on his back and tried to remember how to breathe.

Arthur stared at the canopy of his bed for a long time without saying anything, vaguely aware of aftershocks making his limbs tremble, disturbingly like some of his hunting dogs when the trainers scratch their bellies. He didn’t know where that thought came from, but it made him grin, and he was also aware of the warmth pressed to his side, not unfamiliar but not usual for him, either. Merlin. Merlin was fussing over him, soothing screaming nerve endings, murmuring nonsense. Looking after him, as a good servant did….

Arthur’s mind and body seemed to coalesce together at the thought of Merlin the Manservant, and the effect was like slamming to the ground after a fall. He blinked a few times, and his eyes stung because there was sweat dripping into them. 

He looked at Merlin, who was now laying next to him, his head on the same pillow as his own, touching from shoulder to ankle, yet somehow unobtrusive. Merlin kissed his shoulder, stroked long fingers over his hipbone. He still had come on his face, and it was starting to dry.

Arthur couldn’t ever remember feeling softer or more affectionate toward anyone. 

Arthur knew that only mere moments had passed, but it was too much already; he worried what Merlin must have been thinking. Merlin, who had just worshipped him to climax, yet Arthur really had not done much for him but lay there and groan and demand that he make him come, dammit…..and Arthur felt guilty and ashamed. 

He leaned over, placed a tender kiss to Merlin’s mouth, and he could taste himself there, feel Merlin’s smile. Merlin made a small noise, licked Arthur’s lips with his tongue.

Arthur pulled back slightly, made a show of slurping up the drying come on Merlin’s cheeks, his chin. He was so tired he might’ve fallen asleep in mid-lick, but he wanted to do this for Merlin…and the taste, a rather salty-bitter tang, intrigued him. He hadn’t thought it would be very good, but it was not a bad thing at all….

Merlin made another sound, a half-protest, and Arthur pulled back a little, enough to see his face and not just the view of one eye and his nose that being so close to him allowed him to see. And its then that he noticed it: Merlin’s cock against his hip, and he was half hard again, already!

Arthur looked down, bemused, then back up at Merlin. He couldn’t help teasing him again, a kind of revenge. And it was all the better when Merlin looked embarrassed. 

“Really, Merlin? After all that, you’re ready for another go? You surprise me, I never would have thought such a skinny servant would have such stamina.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes at him, smirked, gave himself a couple of pulls. 

“Do you want me to…?” Arthur was exhausted, but if Merlin needed it, he would help bring him off. 

“No, no”, Merlin answered. “I’m too tired, and so are you. It’ll go down by itself” And he snuggled closer to Arthur, let go of his member, and blinked languidly at him. 

Arthur stroked his arm, his hair, and then gathered him to his chest, let Merlin’s head rest on him. They were both a mess, sticky and sweaty and smelling, but he didn’t care. He had never felt this way before, and the sleepiness was being held at bay by his feeling of elation. 

Surely this couldn’t be what his father had spoken to him about…had it really been that very evening? His sordid advice about taking what he wanted, even when not wanted by the other? 

He looked down at Merlin, his dark head on his chest, already lightly dozing. He could feel Merlin’s warm breath on his chest. 

And suddenly, a wave of melancholy for his father swept over him. His father can’t feel how he’s feeling now. To be wanted by someone who knew you well and still…liked you. Perhaps Uther had once shared such a thing with Arthur’s mother, Ygraine. Arthur certainly hoped so, for Uther’s sake, but Arthur had never known that Uther. 

Arthur felt himself chuckling silently at himself then, felt a bit giddy and silly at once. He’d just had the first, best sex of his life, and was thinking of his father. That was just…wrong. 

To dissipate his odd mood, he re-focused his attention on Merlin, who was becoming a rather heavy, sticky presence on his chest. Arthur couldn’t help himself; he gave one of those unfortunate Merlin-ears a slight tug. 

Merlin swatted his hand away grumpily. “”M’ears are not toys, Arthur”, he said thickly. 

Arthur just laughed. “Yes they are!”, he declared, and leaned over to nibble on one. “Good enough to eat!” 

Merlin moved away, though not completely out of the circle of Arthur’s arms. “Prat”, he muttered. At Arthur’s teasing grin, he added, “Oh, you’re hilarious.”

“I am, aren’t I”, Arthur agreed. This was familiar territory, now. Tormenting Merlin was his most favorite past time. 

Merlin just rolled his eyes, began tracing idle patterns on Arthur’s stomach with a finger. Without looking at Arthur, he said, “That was fun, wasn’t it.”

 _Oh, Merlin, you’ve no idea…_

Aloud, Arthur answered, “Are you sure you’ve never done it before? You seemed pretty good at it. Quite good, in fact. I think we’ve finally found something you’re good at.” 

Merlin made a “Tch!”, sound, tried to look insulted, and only gave himself away by looking rather pleased with himself. “Never have. But…I have spent a lot of time thinking about it.” He paused in his tracing, lowered his head so that Arthur couldn’t see his face. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit too raw and vulnerable. “I’ve wanted this for so very long.”

Arthur shook his head, was glad, too, that Merlin couldn’t see him. Sexual intimacy was one thing; emotional intimacy was still something he was going to have to work at. How could he have missed that, been so blind? Apparently they’d both been pining for the other for quite some time. They'd wasted so much time. He fought to keep his voice light, his tone steady. “Is that so? Any other secrets you're keeping hidden from me?” 

When Merlin tipped his face to look at him and then quickly looked away again, it startled Arthur. Now that was an enigmatic look, indeed. What in the world….?

But then Merlin was looking at him again, and it was the Merlin he knew, the goofy, silly clumsy servant with his wide , happy grin, and Arthur forgot all about the shadow he’d seen just a moment ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Another royal banquet. Arthur sat at his father’s right at the head table, Morgana on Uther’s left, and tried to remain interested as delegates from neighboring kingdoms paid their homages to Camelot. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so distracted if a certain dark-haired manservant across the room didn’t keep looking at him that way, batting his eyes at him and smirking. Quite odd, really, how good Merlin was at multi-tasking when he wanted to be. He could flirt shamelessly with Arthur across a crowded room and still attend to his serving duties, while Arthur’s cock would twitch, the ring brushing his smallclothes time and again, and his arse muscles would tighten involuntarily. It was a game for Merlin, to see how far he could go before Arthur’s discomfort became noticeable. Arthur really was going to have a talk with him….

They really hadn’t been doing much talking lately. Most of their time alone together did not involve talking. They did make sounds, certainly, but most of that was of the wordless variety, usually at high volume. Exploring and discovering every inch of each other, every aspect of passion and desire. And it was Merlin who usually lead in bed, constantly finding creative, imaginative ways to pleasure each other, and usually putting the ring in the others' nethers to uses Arthur would never have thought of. They left each other breathless at night…and then found ways to make each other laugh while laying in each others’ arms, boneless and sated …usually with Merlin telling Arthur silly stories and fairy tales. Merlin really was quite a sappy lover. 

This was a time of great experimentation for the both of them, and there were a few times, like the first time Arthur had penetrated Merlin, the ring and his cock greased so heavily that it made slithery, squishing sounds that drove the pair of them mad. The both of them had groaned so long and so loudly, particularly when the ring had touched some small gland deep inside Merlin. Arthur had had to put hands over his own mouth and Merlin’s, for fear the castle guards would hear them and think the prince was under attack. 

Or the time Merlin had inserted one oiled finger into Arthur, and instead of moving it, had just allowed Arthur to clench around it, and pulse around it, feeling his own muscles work to try to expel it, of their own volition. That sensation was so foreign, so intriguing, so wondrous, that he’d nearly come then, without any attention having been paid to other favored parts.

When morning came, though, it was always Merlin who was all business, when Arthur might have chosen to try to steal a few moments more together, or a “quickie” as he liked to call it; but Merlin insisted on ensuring that Arthur was up and dressed and ready for whatever royal commitments awaited him for the day. The killjoy. Manservant by day, dynamic lover by night….it would appear that Arthur was still learning aspects of Merlin he never would have suspected.

No one knew about them, by mutual unspoken agreement. Arthur knew, just by the ways Gaius would sometimes quirk an eloquent eyebrow at them, that Gaius probably suspected as strongly as anyone might, largely due to the fact that Merlin often wasn’t home at night. Arthur also knew that the old physician was a skilled keeper of secrets and would not ever expose them unless they wanted to be. 

Merlin was standing at Arthur’s elbow now, rousing him a bit from his reverie, and Arthur glanced up at him, expecting a flirtatious smirk as he refilled his goblet. They had finally moved past the dinner and the speeches, and now many of the guests were dancing and mingling. 

But Merlin wasn’t smiling, and he wasn’t flirting with Arthur. His eyebrows were knitted in that serious expression he got when he was genuinely upset about something, and something knotted in Arthur’s stomach. “What---“, he began. 

“Sir Broman”, Merlin spoke quietly, for Arthur’s ear only, indicated the knight in question with a discreet gesture. “He’s bothering Suriah.” 

Arthur looked past him, tried to locate the knight in question through the sea of Camelot-red cloaks. He wasn’t hard to spot. The tall, bearded knight was trying to pull one of the serving girls into his lap, and was at present trying to get a goose-squeeze of her breast. The girl was smiling, in a tight, nervous way that made it obvious how she felt about his attentions, and was doing everything she could to try to avoid the advances. 

And the knights around Broman were all laughing like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. 

Arthur was on his feet abruptly, unnoticed by his father or anyone else in the now-turned-casual banquet hall. How could he have ever missed something like this? These were his *knights*. His responsibility. They represented him and Camelot. 

He was at there in a matter of moments, within Broman’s line of vision, and Broman let the girl’s arm go, though he was still grinning widely, foolishly. 

“There are others waiting to be served at the other end of the table”, Arthur said to the girl—Suriah, Merlin had said—and she averted her face and hurried away, not quite running. 

Arthur turned to Broman. “I have a special assignment for you, Sir Broman, Knight of Camelot”, he said to the still leering brute before him. 

And after he’d told Broman about this assignment—guard duty to the most remote and unpopulated point of Camelot, where the only servants were bigger and smellier than himself, and earned the drunken outrage of the same knight, he saw Merlin looking at him. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t smiling. What he was doing was looking at Arthur with soft eyes and such an expression of pride that it made Arthur feel at once unworthy and ashamed that he hadn’t done more, and sooner.

He looked now at the other knights of the group, all gone silent now, puzzled by this new and strange behavior by their prince. Since when did Prince Arthur interfere in their amorous quests? 

“Sir Leon”, Arthur called to the big red headed knight, on the other side of the table. He had not been a part of this appalling display, and Arthur was glad of it. 

Leon hurried to his side. “I want you to arrange a meeting tomorrow morning, and it is mandatory that all knights attend.”

Leon bowed. “I will see to it, my lord”, he answered. “May I ask the nature of this meeting?”

“A new order, Sir Leon. A Code of Conduct for all knights. We are to hold ourselves to a higher standard. Things are going to be different in Camelot.”

He could feel a certain pair of eyes on him. He knew Merlin could not hear what he was saying, but he had probably guessed at the meaning.

Leon hurried away and was speaking to other knights, apparently already spreading the word. Somehow, Arthur knew that Leon would be a help to him in this, and would stand loyal. 

He turned then, searched out the blue eyes upon him. Found a half-filled goblet of wine and raised it in Merlin’s direction.

“For the love of Camelot”, he said softly, and Merlin’s expression told him that while he hadn’t heard him, he understood his meaning exactly, and would also stand by him, until the day he died. “And for you, Merlin”, he mouthed, and promised all he had within his heart.


End file.
